Features
Follow Che’s footsteps – lead by example, not words: My Talk with Aleida Guevara, daughter of Che Guevara
by Nilanta Ilangamuwa
It was 1967. In La Higuera, a small village in the Vallegrande region of the Santa Cruz Department in Bolivia, there was a man leading a small guerrilla group that had been fighting for months to transform the Bolivian state. He had arrived in Bolivia from Cuba in November 1966 under the pseudonym “Fernando.” Initially, some members of the Bolivian Communist Party supported him, but the support was insufficient. At that time, General René Barrientos, a staunch anti-communist, was Bolivia’s de facto leader following a military coup that ousted President Víctor Paz Estenssoro in 1964. Barrientos was then elected president in a disputed election in 1966. The United States, determined to stop the spread of communism across Latin America, supported Barrientos. The harsh reality of the situation sealed the fate of the revolutionary who had come to Bolivia under the name Fernando. Ernesto “Che” Guevara, as the world knows him, took his last breath there.
On October 8, 1967, Che and his group hid in a deep ravine near La Higuera, known as “El Yuro Ravine,” to avoid capture by the military. However, a battle broke out shortly after. During the firefight, Che was wounded in the leg and captured by Bolivian soldiers.
Afterwards, Che was taken to a small schoolhouse in La Higuera, where he spent the night. The next day, October 9, 1967, Bolivian authorities, with the assistance of CIA agents, decided to execute him. Mario Terán, a Bolivian army sergeant, was assigned as Che’s executioner. Their plan was to shoot him and then claim that Che had died in combat, as executing a prisoner without trial is a war crime. According to reports, Che faced his executioner without fear and said in his final moments, “I know you are here to kill me. Shoot, coward, you are only going to kill a man.” While some accounts suggest that Mario Terán suffered severe mental distress afterwards and committed suicide in 1974, others claim he lived a quiet life until his death around the year 2000.
For years, the location of Che’s remains was a closely guarded state secret. In 1997, after decades of silence, a team of Cuban and Bolivian forensic scientists discovered a mass grave in Vallegrande that contained his remains and those of several comrades. His remains were later brought back to Cuba and buried in a mausoleum in Santa Clara, the city where he won a decisive battle during the Cuban Revolution.
This year marks 57 years since Che was killed. The mahogany plant he planted at Yahalakelle Rubber Estate, later renamed Che Park, in the Moragahahena area of Horana during his visit to Sri Lanka in 1959 has since grown into a towering tree. Che’s admirers honour his memory by tending to the tree every year. As in many countries around the world, some in this country also attempt to co-opt figures like Che to serve the interests of certain social groups. In some cases, this “blind adoration” prevents a critical examination of the deep socio-political ideas that Che sought to convey, leading to subtle distortions of his thoughts.
This special conversation with Aleida Guevara March, Che’s daughter, is significant in this context. The eldest of four children born to Ernesto “Che” Guevara and his second wife, Aleida Guevara is a Cuban physician. She has worked as a doctor in Angola, Ecuador, and Nicaragua, and is currently practising at the William Soler Children’s Hospital in Havana.
I first asked her: Aleida, how did your father’s revolutionary ideals shape your personal values and outlook on life? What specific moments from your childhood reflect his influence on you?
“Unfortunately, I lived with my father for a very short time, and I only have a handful of memories,” she began. Reflecting further on those memories, she added: “But those times were very beautiful. My father woke me up early in the morning. I was always surprised by how early he rose. He would take me with him to do voluntary work. I remember going with him to work alongside sugarcane workers. Even before entering the plantation, I can still recall how he interacted with those people. I remember how he used to cut sugarcane and give me a piece to eat. They talked about many things. I had a lot of fun at that time.
“I participated in voluntary services from a young age, but it was my mother who put me in a position to be a working woman in today’s society. Without her, we would not have been able to receive an education like any other Cuban child. Children often lose their fathers, especially a world-famous guerrilla. It is impossible to fill that gap, and many people try to address it from a material point of view. However, my mother stood up like an extraordinary fortress and ensured we had everything that other Cuban children did.
“We lived in such an environment. We were educated and brought up as ordinary women and men, with our feet on the ground. Today, we have become socially useful citizens because of that deep social understanding and education instilled by our parents,” she stated.
One of the main things that emerge from examining Che’s writings is that he was not only interested in overthrowing governments but also in building a new kind of socialist society. He believed that revolution should create a “new man” (hombre nuevo), enriched not by material incentives but by moral values. In his view, socialist citizens are people working for the collective good, guided by deep moral principles of solidarity, self-sacrifice, and revolution. This idea, he emphasized, was in stark contrast to the Soviet model, which relied too heavily on material rewards and failed to cultivate true socialist consciousness.
In this context, Aleida was next asked how, in her view, her father’s legacy has evolved over the decades since his death. She was also asked, “Do you believe that modern interpretations of his life and works are consistent with his original intentions, or have they changed significantly?”
In response, she noted, “Some people try to distort my father’s work and life. They devote their lives to it. But they rarely succeed. Che is a coherent example.”
She further mentioned, “He said what he thought and did what he said. He never asked anyone to do what he couldn’t do. His revolutionary ethics set an example for those around him. Respect for people is very important. Unfortunately, we have not achieved everything we want, and not all his works have been studied in depth.
“But his enemies could not crush him or make him disappear. He was such a complete person that anyone who learns about him is drawn to him. My father was a boundary breaker.
“Che is in faraway places and different cultures. We need to study him and master his ideas more. He is still a symbol of an extraordinary life. Our goal is to use his life as a tool to learn and create a more just world for everyone.”
It is well known that as a young medical student, Che took a motorcycle trip across the South American continent with his friend Alberto Granado. In 1952, he travelled with his companion for eight months, visiting various countries, including Argentina, Chile, Peru, and Venezuela, covering more than eight thousand kilometres.
The visit gave him a deeper understanding of the true nature of the social inequalities, exploitation, and poverty afflicting the region. It was in Guatemala that Che began to solidify his Marxist ideology in 1954, which coincided with the overthrow of the progressive government of Jacobo Arbenz in a CIA-backed coup in an operation code-named Operation PBSuccess. Witnessing the violence of imperialist intervention firsthand, Che determined that the only way to bring about real change in Latin America was through armed revolution with socialist consciousness.
Accordingly, Che Guevara played a crucial role in various revolutionary movements throughout Latin America. I asked Aleida, “What do you see as the most notable impact of his efforts in these regions? Are there specific countries or events that exemplify his contribution to the fight for social justice?”
In response, she said, “Che broke boundaries. He wasn’t just in Latin America; he still lives on in Africa, Asia, and Old Europe. Che was guided by ideals. Consider, for example, what is happening in Palestine today.
“My father went to Palestine in 1959. When he arrived, the Palestinian leaders explained the situation. Many people mistakenly think that this is a new problem. In fact, the Palestinians had already been expelled from their lands. They were forced to migrate from their territories. Most of the Gaza Strip was full of people.
“Dad didn’t want to see this suffering. He wanted to know where people were preparing to resist that abuse and where they were building weapons to support it. Today, the Palestinian people are fighting for the right to have their own land and culture. Che is relevant today. That’s right. Don’t you think so too?”
Decades after Che’s death, we are experiencing a different world. The world is more fragmented than ever before. The Western military alliance, led by NATO, is expanding, via proxies, into Asia, Africa, and Latin America. At a time when nearly nine hundred American military bases are located around the world, many aspiring nations are rallying for an alternative.
I next asked her: Given the complex political context in Latin America today, what are the biggest challenges to the ideals your father presented? How should current and future generations work to achieve his vision of equality and social justice?
In response, she said, “As you mentioned, the political landscape in Latin America is complex, but it’s even more intricate in Asia, the Middle East, and especially Africa. Che’s influence is not limited to one region; as I said before, he transcended borders.
“New generations should study him more. They should learn how to use his ideas as tools for life. Reading Che fosters unity among social movements seeking a better world. We must never lose respect for the people, for freedom and sovereignty. We must always affirm the necessity of these inviolable principles.”
“Che taught us something else. Anyone who calls themselves a leftist, anyone who aspires to a better world, must have a strong revolutionary ethos. It’s not just about talking or urging people to act; it’s about walking in Che’s footsteps and leading by example. This is especially important today, when many claim that these long-held principles will be lost on future generations.
“But the real question is: how do we educate them (this younger generation)? How do we instill in them respect for other people and for nature, for cooperation and love? They can help create the changes needed for a fairer world for everyone. How actively involved they will be depending on how we educate the new generations.”
Another important point to note is that Che often emphasized the significance of women in revolutionary movements. I finally asked Aleida: As the daughter of an influential figure like Che, how do you see the role of women in your father’s work and in the broader context of the Latin American Revolution? What lessons can be learned from their contributions and struggles?
In response, she said, “Before Che, the apostle of the Cuban Revolution, José Martí, highlighted the role of women in revolutions. He stated that even women who send their children to the battlefields to fight for freedom and sovereignty should be involved in a true revolution.
“Martí said something very beautiful: ‘Motherly love for the motherland is not the absurd love of the earth or the grass under our feet. It is the invincible hatred of those who oppress us and the eternal resentment towards those who attack us.’ My father studied Martí, respected him, admired him, and followed his ideas.
“There are very beautiful things that are repeated among great men. Respect for women, the right of all women to be considered equal to our comrades, is very important. He always said that a true revolutionary defends their ideas to the last consequence. But a woman defends her ideals. Not only does she defend a province or a nation; in her configuration, there should be 50% women. They understood that the participation of women in the whole process is essential; the tenderness that comes from a woman is important to fill it with energy. Therefore, I think we have to work a lot more on that side.”
Finally, she said, “There are many parts of the world that are still referred to as so-called first-world societies where women are not respected or allowed to have equal rights to education. The social acceptance we need is not yet established. We need to work on this. A culture that treats women as inferior even to cattle has existed for centuries. It makes it difficult to change the social injustice that we all aspire to. Che’s real struggle was based on this need.”
by Jehan Perera
The death sentence on Sivarasa Anojan, a Sri Lankan citizen convicted of blasphemy in Saudi Arabia has taken a central place in national consciousness for the past several weeks. It has been in the headline news since it was first reported last month. There have been many initiatives taken locally to get a more lenient sentencing by the Saudi authorities. There is also an undercurrent that is critical of both the culture and religion from which this sentencing emanates. This also sustains the widespread publicity being given nationally to the issue. By way of contrast, the controversy caused by the forcible removal of the Thileepan statue in Jaffna has not significantly impacted upon the national consciousness. There was only passing mention of the incident in the national media which has been overtaken by other events.
However, in the north and east of the country, and in the diaspora, the removal of the Thileepan statue has become a major issue. It has led to protest marches led by university students and widespread condemnation by civil society and political groups. The issues underlying the Thileepan statue have deep undercurrents in the Tamil consciousness particularly in the north and east which time is unlikely to dispel. The real test of harmony in a multi-ethnic, multi-religious society like Sri Lanka is not whether communities coexist peacefully when nothing controversial is at stake. Rather, the test is how they respond when an event touches their identities and grievances. The death sentence imposed on Anojan in Saudi Arabia and the removal of the Thileepan statue in Jaffna carry the risk of becoming grievances to entire communities.
In the case of Anojan, a young Tamil migrant worker, he was first sentenced to five years imprisonment and a fine of three million Saudi riyals over a Facebook comment. Both he and the Saudi prosecution appealed, with the appeal court raising the sentence to death. This has led to public sympathy for him in Sri Lanka.
Appeals for clemency have come from the President, government and opposition leaders, clergy of all faiths and Muslim political leaders. At the same time there is a need to reject attempts to turn the case into a source of anti-Muslim sentiment or collective blame. Peacebuilding therefore has to be within Sri Lanka as well as diplomatic. Religious leaders and civil society in the country should be ready to quell rumour, even as Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu and Christian leaders stand together publicly.
Thileepan Statue
The Thileepan controversy has had a different trajectory. Many Tamils admire Thileepan, the LTTE name of Rasaiah Parthipan, who died on 26 September 1987 after a twelve-day fast. His demands were addressed to India but included matters pertaining to the Sri Lankan government including the release of detainees held under the Prevention of Terrorism Act. The statue put up during this year’s commemoration was removed by police in the early hours of 27 September, a day after the commemoration ended. The government’s legal concern, as articulated by its spokesperson, was the LTTE remains a proscribed organisation and before removing the statue, police had presented facts to the court. But law and memory answer different questions and the depth of Tamil anguish cannot be disregarded.
For many Tamils, remembrance of Thileepan is connected to their sense of loss and historical memory. The memorial has been destroyed and rebuilt more than once, and each destruction has added to the meaning it carries. Many who mourn Thileepan are grieving a young man who died without violence and by his own fast. They also grieve an era of loss of the struggle for Tamil rights and self-determination for which Thileepan has become a symbol. The Office for Reparations Act, No. 34 of 2018, provides for collective reparations and gives the Office for Reparations a role in policies on memorialisation. This does not automatically permit any particular statue, nor does it override laws on public places or proscribed organisations. But it shows that memorialisation is recognised within Sri Lanka’s framework for reparations and reconciliation. There is also a wider question of equality.
The JVP that now leads the NPP government was itself once proscribed when it took up arms against the state in which tens of thousands died, later entered democratic politics, and now for many years has publicly commemorated its own fallen. The opportunity to remember those who died should not belong to one community alone.
A commitment to peacebuilding requires that the same trust that has been given to former militants of one community needs to be given to members of other communities if equal citizenship and equal rights are to have meaning. Further, the Office for Reparations Act provides for reparations through livelihood. It is today a fact that those former LTTE members who went through the government’s rehabilitation process find it difficult to get jobs in the private sector.
Private sector employers are reluctant to come under surveillance for employing former LTTE members. There needs to be equal access to employment and removal of unjustified barriers to reintegration, with targeted public programmes where necessary. Until this situation is realized on the ground, the government needs to consider employing those who went through the government’s rehabilitation process and still unable to find suitable employment.
Continuing Peace
The challenge that post-war Sri Lanka faces, a full 17 years after the end of war, is to strengthen the foundations of trust between communities rather than deepen existing suspicions. Anojan is an individual Sri Lankan citizen facing a severe sentence in another country. His case should not become a reason to blame Sri Lankan Muslims. Thileepan is remembered differently by different communities, but the dispute over his memorial should not become a reason to revive the communal divisions of the past. The cases are also mirror images in an important respect. In the Anojan case, the state is an advocate pleading before another government. In the Thileepan case, the state is the actor whose decision is being judged. The first calls for quiet diplomacy and restraint in public language. The second calls for fairness and explanation, and the burden on the state is heavier.
The common roots of the two cases lie in mistrust that does not belong to one community alone. It has been produced by experiences of discrimination, violence, insecurity and loss that have been interpreted differently by different communities. Grievances turn communal when an individual is seen as a representative of a community, when institutions seem to treat communities unequally, and when people feel their pain goes unacknowledged. Each of these can be addressed. The system change that the Sri Lankan people voted for in 2024 would need to include a government that rejects collective blame, acknowledges grief and explains its decisions openly. It also requires state institutions to act transparently and consistently, so that no citizen feels that the law protects some communities more than others.
This peacebuilding imperative requires enlightened leadership as much as legal authority. It requires leaders who will speak to their own communities against prejudice, even when this is politically inconvenient. It requires religious leaders who will demonstrate solidarity across religious boundaries. And it requires civil society to recognise that peacebuilding is not simply preventing violence after tensions have risen, but is addressing the mistrust and grievances that allow tensions to rise in the first place. Sri Lanka has learned, at great cost, that communal divisions can become much larger than the events that initially give rise to them. The Anojan and Thileepan cases give Sri Lanka an opportunity to demonstrate that it has learned from its past. The test of Sri Lanka’s continuing peace is whether we can address difficult grievances without turning them into communal ones.
By Sarath S. Kodithuwakku
President, Institute of Management of Sri Lanka; Senior Professor, University of Peradeniya
(Continued from yesterday)
Representation, Independence and Decision-Making
The membership-based electoral structure should provide representation without becoming a substitute for executive management. The seven Elected Directors would bring the perspectives of the SLC membership into the Board, while the seven Independent Directors would provide additional professional expertise and independence. The model’s effectiveness will, therefore, depend on whether the Board can integrate these perspectives into coherent strategic decisions while maintaining a clear boundary between governance and day-to-day management.
The equal division between Elected and Independent Directors also raises a governance-design question. An even-numbered Board can create a tie. The Bill addresses this directly: in the event of equality, the Chairperson has a casting vote; in the Chairperson’s absence, the Deputy Chairperson has a casting vote; and if both are absent, an Independent Director, elected to preside, has the casting vote. The issue is, therefore, not whether a tie can be resolved, but how this mechanism affects the balance between representation, independence and accountability.
The leadership structure reinforces this balance: the Chairperson is elected from among the Independent Directors and the Deputy Chairperson from among the Elected Directors. The casting-vote arrangement makes the Chairperson’s role and perceived independence particularly important, especially when a major strategic decision divides the two components of the Board.
The Bill’s committee provisions could support a disciplined model of delegation, but implementation will depend heavily on the terms of reference adopted by the new Board. The framework could be strengthened by requiring a published cricket-development strategy, a clear division of powers among the Board, executives and selection committees, transparent principles for major development allocations, and periodic reporting on outcomes across men’s, women’s, schools and domestic cricket. These measures would strengthen accountability without legislating the details of team selection or tournament scheduling.
From Measurement to Strategic Accountability
If the Board is to hold management accountable for strategy rather than simply for short-term results, it needs a performance framework that captures both outcomes and the capabilities that produce them.
SLC should consider requiring an explicit multi-year cricket-development strategy, supported by measurable objectives and an annual strategy review. Such a strategy should identify the development pathway from schools and grassroots cricket through domestic competitions to high performance; define major capability priorities such as coaching, sports science, data and analytics; set resource-allocation principles; and establish indicators against which progress can be assessed.
The purpose would not be to turn cricket into a bureaucratic exercise. Strategic accountability simply creates a disciplined basis for asking whether the organisation is doing what it said it would do, whether its assumptions remain valid, and whether resources are producing the intended results.
From Measurement to Organisational Learning
SLC should, therefore, consider adopting a formal Balanced Scorecard. Rather than measuring success solely through international match results or annual financial audits, the framework could track four interdependent perspectives:
Financial Sustainability:
commercial growth, financial discipline and compliance.
Internal Processes:
domestic tournament quality, development pathways and selector-process integrity.
Stakeholder Value:
grassroots development, school cricket and women’s cricket expansion.
Strategic Capability:
coaching quality, sports science, talent development, data and analytics capability, and the organisation’s ability to convert investment into sustainable performance.
The purpose of such a framework would not be to reduce cricket development to a collection of numbers. Rather, it would create a disciplined process for asking four fundamental management questions:
What did we expect to achieve?
What actually happened?
Why was there a difference?
What should we change as a result?
Evaluating these dimensions periodically would help SLC move beyond performance reporting towards genuine organisational learning.
ICC as a Stakeholder in Governance Reform
The ICC is another important stakeholder whose interests should be recognised in the reform process. SLC’s governance arrangements do not operate solely within Sri Lankan law; they also have to be compatible with the governance obligations associated with ICC membership. The ICC’s Articles of Association require each Member to provide for free and democratic elections (or nominees from outside its members) and to manage its affairs autonomously, without government or other public-body interference in the governance, regulation or administration of cricket.
International experience demonstrates that ICC engagement in member governance restructuring is not unusual. In the United States, after the ICC expelled the old national association for chronic governance failures, the ICC directly oversaw a multi-year project to design a new governance model. The ICC Board formally approved the constitution for a replacement body (USA Cricket) before it was adopted. The resulting structure combined elected constituent directors with independent directors, showing that an ICC-backed framework can accommodate both forms of representation.
In Nepal, the ICC established a Nepal Advisory Group comprising stakeholders from across the game to recommend constitutional amendments, with adoption of the revised constitution and subsequent elections forming part of the conditions for reinstatement of ICC membership.[8] The ICC subsequently facilitated an independent panel that included ICC nominees together with representatives of Nepal’s National Sports Council and the existing cricket administration to map the election process, guidelines and timelines.[9] More recently, in 2026, an ICC delegation visited Bangladesh to engage with stakeholders on governance and electoral matters.[10] The ICC has also reported that its Deputy Chair and another ICC Board representative visited Sri Lanka and met relevant stakeholders to assess ongoing developments, while the ICC Board reiterated the need for elections to be held as soon as possible.
These precedents make the ICC a legitimate stakeholder in considering the governance implications of the proposed Bill. This does not mean that the ICC should determine Sri Lanka’s domestic legislation, nor that every feature of the Bill requires prior ICC approval. It does, however, suggest that early and formal engagement with the ICC would be prudent, particularly where the proposed arrangements concern Board independence, elections, government involvement and the transition to the new governance structure.
This is particularly relevant because the Bill creates two institutional arrangements that deserve careful scrutiny from an autonomy perspective. The Transformation Committee is responsible for managing the transition until the First Board is constituted, while the Nomination Committee, although structurally independent of the SLC Board, includes representatives connected with the Sports Ministry and the National Sports Council. Neither arrangement, by itself, establishes government interference. However, taken together, they make it important that the independence of the incoming Board is demonstrable through transparent procedures rather than assumed from the structure alone.
Given the professional calibre and international exposure of the members of the Transformation Committee, it would be reasonable to expect that the importance of ICC engagement would have been recognised. Although any such consultation has not been evident in the public domain, it is therefore reasonable to expect that the ICC has either already been consulted or will be consulted before the Bill is enacted. Such engagement would allow potential incompatibilities to be identified before the new structure is enacted and implemented, rather than after the fact.
The Transition Is Itself a Governance Challenge
The transition provisions introduce a significant organisational-change challenge. Replacing the existing club- and association-based governance structure with a new hybrid Board and governance architecture is not simply a legal exercise; it is an organisational change programme. The Sri Lanka Cricket Transformation Committee is required to manage the transition until the First Board is constituted and, during that period, to establish rules covering matters including tournament structure, domestic governance, selection committee appointments, committee terms of reference, the Nomination Committee process and the election of the Elected Directors.
Structural reform on paper can encounter resistance from established interests, institutional habits and existing routines. The implementation phase will therefore require a clear change-management framework, including stakeholder engagement, transparent onboarding for Independent Directors, clarification of decision rights, alignment of legacy committees, and careful transfer of information and responsibilities.
Without attention to these organisational factors, cultural friction could undermine the intended administrative improvements. The success of the reform will therefore depend not only on the text of the legislation but also on the quality of the rules, appointments, delegation arrangements and organisational behaviours that follow it.
From Governance Reform to a Cricket Strategy
The Bill deserves credit for addressing how SLC is constituted and for creating places for specialist advice. It should not be dismissed simply because it does not prescribe a batting order or a domestic fixture list. Those are not appropriate tasks for legislation.
Its limitation is more precise: the proposed governance arrangements do not, by themselves, assure the strategic capability of the Board or the quality, independence and accountability of the decisions made beneath it. They establish the architecture. The future Board and management must supply the strategy, capabilities, discipline and learning mechanisms that make the architecture work.
A stronger reform would connect four elements: a Board selected for collective strategic capability; professional cricket management with clear delegated authority; transparent but non-mechanical selection and investment processes; and systematic evaluation of development outcomes. Within the first of these, information technology and computer science should be recognised as distinct from the broader capability to understand and govern data science, analytics and emerging AI-enabled decision support.
Ultimately, the governing question is not only who gets a seat at the SLC Board table. It is whether that Board can build, fund, execute and learn from a credible strategy for Sri Lankan cricket.
References
1. Department of Government Printing, Sri Lanka. Sri Lanka Cricket Bill, Gazette Supplement, Part II of September 25, 2026, issued on 28 September 2026.
2. International Cricket Council. Media release, 15 July 2026, reporting the ICC Board discussion of Sri Lanka Cricket and the need for elections to be held as soon as possible.
3. Sport New Zealand – Ihi Aotearoa. Nine Steps to Effective Governance, particularly Step 1: Define and Agree the Board’s Role; Step 4: Provide Strategic Leadership; Step 5: Employ and Support a Chief Executive; and Step 8: Get the Right People on Board.
4. Cricket South Africa. Governance and management frameworks, including the delegation-of-authority framework, Board committees, Cricket Committee, Cricket Pipeline Committee and CEO accountability.
5. International Cricket Council. ICC Articles of Association, provisions requiring free and democratic elections and autonomous administration without government or other public-body interference. ICC. https://images.icc-cricket.com/image/upload/prd/f7vm88yw1933dc38cgtg.pdf
6. International Cricket Council. “ICC outlines proposed USACA constitution.” ICC, 2017. https://www.icc-cricket.com/news/icc-outlines-proposed-usaca-constitution
7. International Cricket Council. “Approved constitution marks historic landmark for cricket in USA.” ICC, 2017. https://www.icc-cricket.com/media-releases/approved-constitution-marks-historic-landmark-for-cricket-in-usa
8. International Cricket Council. “ICC welcomes Nepal Special General Meeting to adopt revised constitution.” ICC, 2018. https://www.icc-cricket.com/media-releases/icc-welcomes-nepal-special-general-meeting-to-adopt-revised-constitution
9. International Cricket Council. “Independent Panel meet to progress Nepal elections under revised constitution.” ICC, 2018. https://www.icc-cricket.com/media-releases/independent-panel-meet-to-progress-nepal-elections-under-revised-constitution
10. International Cricket Council. “ICC delegation visits Bangladesh to engage with stakeholders on governance and electoral matters.” ICC, 2026. https://www.icc-cricket.com/media-releases/icc-delegation-visits-bangladesh-to-engage-with-stakeholders-on-governance-and-electoral-matters
11. International Cricket Council. “ICC Board approves governance, membership and member support decisions.” ICC, 2026; see also “ICC Board Meeting,” 2026, reporting ICC representatives’ meetings with stakeholders in Sri Lanka. https://www.icc-cricket.com/media-releases/icc-board-approves-governance-membership-and-member-support-decisions
(Concluded)
by Viran Maddumage
Assistant Lecturer & PhD (Reading) Macquarie University Australia
Sanduni Rathnayake
Lecturer (Probationary) General Sir John Kotelawala Defence University
The Mediterranean is not merely a border between two continents. It is also a reminder of a relationship between Africa and Europe that was built over centuries; and whose consequences have not disappeared.
There are some borders that people cross with passports. Others are crossed by people who have run out of alternatives.
In the early hours of 30 July, 2026, thousands of people attempted to enter Ceuta, the Spanish territory on the northern coast of Africa. Spanish authorities reported that between 50,000 and 60,000 people entered the enclave irregularly during the crisis. The episode followed a Spanish Supreme Court ruling concerning the immediate rejection at the border of people who arrived by sea. Spanish authorities subsequently moved to restore the situation, while Morocco and Spain intensified their cooperation to prevent further crossings.
Ceuta is a strange place to contemplate migration. It is geographically in Africa but politically part of Spain; and therefore, part of the European Union. Its border is not simply a line separating two states. It is a physical manifestation of a much older relationship between two continents.
And perhaps the most important question is not simply: Why are people trying to enter Europe?
It is: Why does Europe remain sufficiently attractive that people are willing to risk their lives trying to reach it?
From extraction to aspiration
The contemporary migration story cannot be reduced to colonialism. Africans migrate for many reasons: employment, education, family reunification, conflict, insecurity, political conditions, environmental pressures and personal aspirations. Much African migration also takes place within Africa itself.
Yet history matters.
European colonialism profoundly reshaped African economies. In many territories, economic structures were organised around the extraction and export of primary commodities. Roads and railways were frequently constructed to connect areas of agricultural, or mineral production, to ports and external markets rather than to create integrated domestic economies. World Bank historical analyses have documented the extent to which colonial economies were dependent on a limited number of primary commodities and external markets.
This was not merely an economic arrangement. It affected what economies produced, where infrastructure was built, how labour was organised and where the value generated by production was realised.
The Congo Free State ,under King Leopold II, offers one of history’s starkest examples. The territory was subjected to a system of forced labour and violent extraction, particularly around rubber and ivory. Forced labour was legally authorised and coercive systems were used to secure production.
But Leopold’s Congo should not be presented as a metaphor for every African country or every European colonial experience. Colonial rule differed substantially across the continent. The broader point is narrower; and perhaps more consequential: colonial economies frequently connected African land, labour and resources to European markets on terms that privileged extraction and external trade.
Modern scholarship continues to examine the long-term effects of these structures. Research on colonial cash-crop economies, for example, has found that colonial production and infrastructure created lasting patterns of economic organisation, while the benefits of these systems were often geographically concentrated and domestic production linkages remained weak.
The question, then, is not whether colonialism single-handedly caused contemporary African migration.
It is whether a history in which Europe was deeply involved in shaping African economies also helped produce the unequal relationship from which today’s migration patterns emerged.
The language of migration
There is another legacy that is easy to overlook because it has become so ordinary: language.
French is spoken across substantial parts of West and Central Africa. Portuguese remains an official language in several African states. English is widely used in countries whose histories are connected to the British Empire.
These are not simply linguistic accidents.
Colonial rule created institutional, educational and administrative connections that survived independence. Those connections later became migration networks.
France, Belgium, Portugal and other European countries are, therefore, not random destinations for African migrants. Their migration relationships with particular African states have been shaped by history, including colonial connections and post-war labour recruitment. The OECD notes that the composition of immigrant populations in several European countries continues to reflect colonial legacies; France, Belgium, Portugal and the Netherlands, for example, have substantial African-born populations.
This creates something more powerful than a shared language. It creates familiarity.
A young person in an African country may have a cousin in Paris, an uncle in Brussels, a former schoolmate in Lisbon or a friend in Milan. Europe ceases to be an abstract geographical destination. It becomes a place where somebody they know already lives.
Diaspora networks can, therefore, function as social infrastructure for migration. They provide information, contacts, accommodation, employment leads and emotional reassurance. The journey may be dangerous, but the destination is no longer entirely unknown.
Why Europe?
There is an uncomfortable paradox at the heart of this story.
For centuries, European powers travelled to Africa in search of land, labour, markets and resources.
Today, Africans travel towards Europe in search of employment, security, education and opportunity.
The direction of movement has changed.
The unequal relationship has not necessarily disappeared. That does not mean Europe is uniformly prosperous while Africa is uniformly poor. Africa is a continent of 54 states with enormous differences in wealth, governance, opportunity and living standards. Nor is Europe free from unemployment, inequality or social exclusion.
But migration decisions are comparative. People do not need to believe that Europe is perfect. They need to believe that their prospects there are better than their prospects at home. That distinction matters.
A person crossing the Mediterranean may not be chasing luxury. They may be chasing a job, a university place, safety, family, dignity or simply the possibility of building a future that appears increasingly difficult to build at home.
Research on West African migration similarly identifies economic opportunity, employment, governance, development conditions and existing migration networks among the factors shaping movement.
The Mediterranean as a graveyard
The tragedy is that the Mediterranean has become not merely a migration route, but a graveyard.
The International Organisation for Migration recorded 5,305 deaths or disappearances on migration routes to Europe in 2016. More than 5,000 deaths and disappearances were recorded in the Mediterranean that year alone.
The danger has never meant that people stop moving.
Instead, when legal routes narrow, journeys can become more dangerous.
That is the central paradox of irregular migration: the more difficult it becomes to cross safely, the greater the incentives for smugglers and increasingly dangerous routes can become for people who are determined to leave.
Ceuta illustrates this geography particularly vividly. Spain and Morocco have spent years reinforcing physical barriers and security arrangements around the enclave. Yet the geographical proximity remains. Africa is only a few kilometres from Europe at its closest points.
A fence can prevent a person from crossing.
It cannot, by itself, erase the reasons that person wanted to cross.
Map courtesy BBC
Europe responds with law
Europe is not without a legal response. Indeed, the European Union has spent years developing increasingly sophisticated mechanisms for managing migration and asylum. As of June 2026, the EU Pact on Migration and Asylum entered into application across EU Member States. It establishes common procedures for screening and registering irregular arrivals, asylum processing, responsibility-sharing and returns, alongside safeguards for fundamental rights.
The European Commission has simultaneously emphasised both stronger external borders and expanded pathways for legal migration, including the EU Talent Pool for workers from outside the Union.
The legal architecture, therefore, reflects competing imperatives.
States have a legitimate interest in controlling their borders.
People have rights when they cross borders.
States have obligations concerning asylum and fundamental rights.
And migrants have reasons; sometimes compelling reasons, for moving.
The challenge is that border control addresses the movement of people. It does not necessarily address the conditions that produce the desire to move.
That distinction should be at the centre of the migration debate.
The African dream of Europe
There is a phrase often encountered in discussions about African migration: that Europe represents a promised land, while Africa is left behind.
Such descriptions can be unfair to a continent that contains enormous economic, cultural and political diversity. But the aspiration itself should not be dismissed.
When a young person believes that their best chance of employment, education or security lies thousands of kilometres away, that tells us something about both the destination and the place they are leaving.
Migration, therefore, becomes a form of social commentary.
People vote with their feet; not because migration is always the right choice, but because their decisions reveal how they perceive the opportunities available to them.
This is also why migration matters for the sustainability of states.
If a country’s young people increasingly organise their lives around the possibility of leaving, the problem is larger than the loss of individual workers. Countries can lose skills, professionals, entrepreneurs, researchers and future leaders. Families may become transnational. Communities may depend increasingly upon remittances. And the political question becomes unavoidable:
What kind of country are we building if so many of our citizens imagine their future somewhere else?
Sri Lanka should understand this question.
The circumstances are obviously different from those of African states facing Mediterranean migration routes. Sri Lankan migration is shaped by its own economic, political and historical circumstances, and its principal destinations and migration channels differ considerably.
Yet the underlying question is familiar.
When leaving becomes the most attractive strategy for an ambitious young person, migration is no longer merely an individual phenomenon. It becomes a measure of confidence in the future of the country itself.
Beyond the border
Perhaps, then, Europe should not ask only how to stop people from crossing.
And African governments should not ask only how to persuade people to stay.
Both questions are too narrow.
The deeper question is why a world divided by such profound economic inequalities continues to expect people to remain content on one side of the divide while opportunity is concentrated on the other.
The answer cannot be an open border without regulation. Nor can it be a fortress surrounded by increasingly dangerous seas.
A more durable approach would require investment in economic opportunity, domestic industries, education, accountable institutions and safe and lawful avenues for migration. It would require European countries to recognise that migration management is not simply a security question. It is also an economic, historical and human-rights question.
And African states must confront an equally difficult reality: historical exploitation can explain part of today’s inequality, but it cannot become an excuse for indefinitely postponing the task of building states in which people want to remain.
The Mediterranean will continue to separate Africa from Europe geographically.
But history has already connected them.
The resources extracted from Africa helped build European economies. Colonial languages created enduring institutional links. Diaspora communities now connect African families to European cities. Labour moves in both directions. Capital moves in both directions. Ideas move in both directions.
What crosses the Mediterranean, therefore, is not merely a migrant.
It is history.
The person swimming towards Ceuta is carrying more than a small bag, if they have one at all. They may be carrying the expectations of a family, the memory of an economy shaped by generations of external relationships, the example of relatives who successfully migrated, and the belief that somewhere on the other side of the water there is a future worth risking everything to reach.
Perhaps, that is the question Europe should hear beneath the sound of the waves:
What would have to change so that crossing the sea was a choice rather than a necessity?
(The views expressed are those of the writers and do not necessarily represent those of the institutions with which the writers associated)
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