Features
Formulating a National Policy on disability
Disability studies in the universities
(Excerpted from Memories that linger – my journey in the world of disability by Padmani Mendis)
Prof. Chandra Gunawardene was the Dean of the Faculty of Education at the Open University of Sri Lanka, OUSL, at the turn of the century. I was recommended to her by her friend Prof. Swarna Wijetunge who had been a Professor of Education at the University of Colombo. Prof. Wijetunge was a member of the National Education Commission. She had always been sensitive to the poor quality of education available to disabled children. Prof. Gunawardene was keen to take action to uplift this through improvement in teacher education.
So she obtained the approval of the OUSL in 2004 to set up within the Open University a Department of Special Needs Education. She asked for my help to do this and had me recruited to the Faculty as a Senior Consultant. I set about getting the preliminary arrangements done. Meanwhile she also recruited to the Department of Special Needs Education two senior lecturers. She arranged for these two to proceed directly to the University of Lahore and return with their Doctoral Degrees to start academic activity in the Department. One of the first such activities was a Bachelor of Education Honours in Special Needs.
University of Colombo
The University of Colombo, since 2009 was running an “Ability Centre for Students with Disabilities”. It was helping students in a small way. Ashoka Weerawardena was running this centre.
Aloka Weerasekera had in 2012 obtained a degree from the Faculty. Aloka, as a student, had helped the Faculty and his disabled colleagues within it, to deal with the some of the problems they faced. And even after he graduated he continued to help Ashoka at the Ability Centre.
A new dean, Prof. Athula Ranasinghe, was appointed to the Faculty of Arts in 2011. He proposed that it was time that the Faculty demonstrated greater academic leadership in disability. Aloka and I were brought in to join the staff of the Department of Sociology on a planning committee to find a strategy for putting into practice this academic support for disability.
The end result of the planning committee’s deliberations was the setting up in 2014 of the Centre for Disability Research, Education and Practice popularly called CEDREP.
In the same year the US Embassy came in with a grant to finance improvements to the Ability Centre for the benefit of students. This Centre was upgraded and had its role and name changed to the “Support Centre for Students with Disabilities”. I was a frequent visitor to assist Ashoka with what I could. CEDREP called on me for advice in the early years when they needed it.
Disabled People to the Forefront
A significant outcome of CBR at the grass roots was the setting up of disability self-help groups. Fridsro helped in this in the government-supported CBR areas throughout the island. Unfortunately, government workers later made these into District Disability Organisations over which they could and did have influence. As was to be expected, the autonomy within the small self-groups was gone. Many disabled people who had been empowered through their self-help group were disillusioned and turned away.
Others, such as Nishar Sharif, persist even today, raising the issue of their rights and their inclusion within the district and province. Navajeevana encouraged the formation of self-help groups in the CBR areas they supported. These also developed into Divisional Disability Organisations. I have met some on my visits to the south. Although they are sustained with some financial support from Christoffel Blinden Mission, CBM, they maintain their autonomy and empowerment and participate in area development planning and activities.
In Sri Lanka there has not even until now been any kind of Disability Movement. In Colombo personable individuals set up organisations to publicise the needs of particular disability groups. Occasionally they would obtain sponsorship to implement interventions. Some have been led by disabled people themselves and others have not. There was debate about these at the time. Within the world of disability, it was felt that the organisation had to be managed by disabled people themselves to be recognised as a Disabled Peoples’ Organization (DPO). If it was managed by a non-disabled person or people, then it was thought of as an NGO.
S. L. Hettiarachchi
So the Sri Lanka Council for the Blind (SLCB) which was actually single-handedly run by S. L. Hettiarachchi, himself with visual impairment and totally unable to see, was considered to be an NGO. Its president, although only in a nominal role, was not disabled. Soon after I started working with the School of Social Work, I met Mr. Hettiarachchi. I used to meet him often thereafter for a chat in his office. We developed a close life-long friendship until he passed away in 2015.
With Mr. Hettiarachchi in the driving seat, the SLCB carried out many activities for young people – particularly, courses which imparted skills and knowledge scarce elsewhere such as in Mobility and Orientation and Information Technology. On a Saturday morning I would often drop in for a chat with the young people there.
What impressed me most was the Library the SLCB developed with an extensive collection of both written and audio publications made easily accessible to the many who availed of its resources. Mr. Hettiarachchi then extended the library to the thirteen Special Schools for the Blind located throughout the island and were registered with the Ministry of Education. He later sought and obtained support for this from Sight Savers International, SSI.
Three years later SSI requested me to evaluate the impact of their support to benefit children. One of the most interesting findings regarding project’s impact was the children’s increased love of reading. Many had become avid readers. Many had taken to reading a new book every two to three days. Many had shown improvement in language development, reading and writing skills, grammar, vocabulary and verbalisation. It strengthened my belief that it was the SLCB, as organisations were at the time, that had the greatest impact on disabled people.
Premadasa Dissanayake and Cyril Siriwardene
Another disabled person with whom I shared both a working relationship and friendship was Premadasa Dissanayake. Premadasa hailed from a village in Badulla in the Uva province. He came to Colombo as a wheel-chair user to seek employment. This he got at the Gangarama Temple in Colombo, first learning the skill of watch repair and then as a teacher of other young people both those who had disabilities and others who had not, to acquire the same skill.
He never forgot his roots and later, when he was able to implement field programmes, they were located around the village he came from. He impressed others with his honesty, diligence and hard work.
Premadasa was the core of the, Sri Lanka Foundation for Rehabilitation of the Disabled (SLFRD), which he established with support. Within this, he had soon set up a workshop to produce a range of appliances required by people with mobility impairments – wheelchairs, tricycles, crutches and so on. This workshop called Rehab Lanka bid for and obtained tenders for these and was a regular supplier to both the Ministry in Colombo and to Departments of Social Services in the provinces.
With funding from the Swedish Organisation of the Handicapped International Aid Foundation, he moved into community-based work. I enjoyed very much walking the villages in Badulla with his staff.
Such was the recognition Premadasa had that one of Sri Lanka’s leading garment manufacturers negotiated an agreement between Rehab Lanka and Marks and Spencer popularly known as M & S, the well-known chain of retail stores in the UK. Premadasa trained workers of the garment factory to produce the items they made for M & S. Training was done according to the technical and quality requirements as stated in the agreement between M & S and Rehab Lanka.
Working with Premadasa at Rehab Lanka was Cyril Siriwardene. Cyril had started using a wheelchair since he had met with a road traffic accident while serving in the Air Force. With his assertive but pleasant personality and skilled use of the English Language Cyril was soon recognised as a leader and disability spokesperson both by disabled people and by others.
It was Cyril, Premadasa and Mr. Hettiarachchi that established a dialogue with the Ministry of Social Welfare. This was the time that Viji Jegarasasingham (Mrs. J) had come to the Ministry as an Additional Secretary. She was open to it.
Ministry of Social Welfare
The Ministry of Social Welfare and disability groups soon had a regular conversation. An outcome of this was that in 1996 the first Disability Law was passed. This law was concerned mostly with the setting up of a National Council for Persons with Disabilities (NCPD), and with strengthening the provision of disability services within government. The NCPD was of course to be chaired by the Minister of Social Welfare.
As a positive step, the law ensured a majority participation of disabled people and their representatives in the NCPD, recognising their right to decision making in matters that affected them.
Recognising this in law but not, unfortunately, in practice. It is still the Ministry of Social Welfare that makes all decisions in the field of disability. Even in the making of a new law, a seemingly continuous process started in the year 2004 and is as yet incomplete.
I was not aware of the preparation or enactment of that law in 1996. Maybe I was too concerned with international work at that time. I served however on two consecutive National Councils, the first of which was set up as soon as the law came into effect in 1996.
My experience was that we did not really do anything to bring about changes in the lives of disabled persons and their families. Much of the monthly meetings dealt with acceding to requests by disability organisations and disabled people for financial assistance for a range of purposes from renovating buildings to organising sports events to staging concerts by disabled people.
Disability work was still very much based on charity. The disability representation at large on the National Council however appeared to be satisfied sitting with the minister every month and telling him of their woes. A vivid recollection I have of the first council is the minister, while sitting at the head of the long table, tucking in with satisfaction into a bowl of fruit salad. I must also say that to me he seemed not even to listen to what was being said.
- Prof. Chandra Gunawardene
- Prof. Athula Ranasinghe
National Policy on Disability
At the beginning of this decade there was some visible activity in the Ministry of Social Welfare as it concerned the world of disability. A newly introduced government regulation called on each ministry to develop national policies in areas it was mandated for. For our ministry this included disability.
Consulting the few disabled people she interacted with at the time, Mrs. J had appointed a renowned disabled person to make a draft national policy on disability or NPD. Repeated reviews and revisions did not result in a satisfactory document. This was apparently leading to some frustration all round. Mr. Hettiarachchi talked with me about it, and I wrote for him a brief note on how a national policy may be developed. It had to be a participatory and consultative process.
Together with his colleagues he took this to Mrs. J and they suggested she talk with me about it. The result was that she asked me whether I could do this. I said of course, but with two conditions. One was that the ministry appoints a committee to make the task participatory, and the second – you will not believe it – that she appoints me as Chairperson and let me suggest to her the 12 members that should constitute the committee. I knew my Sri Lanka and she obviously knew me.
The Minister was informed, letters of appointment were received and very soon the committee and our support staff were seated round a table at the ministry – not the one I referred to earlier and there was no bowl of fruit salad.
Our committee represented people with the most prevalent disabilities through their organisations, and those sectors that had to be most involved with disability and disabled people. We started our work with reports from them, each related to the area of their particular concern. Followed by discussion about the situations presented and very preliminary policy suggestions.
In spite of the wide representation on our committee one large gap was evident. No one really knew the situation of disabled people and their families in our country. It was my task to inform Mrs. J that we had to determine this through a socio-economic survey before we could go ahead with policy formulation. All she said was, “How much will you need?” It was then my responsibility to bring to her quotations from three sources known for their experience in conducting such tasks.
She selected one and said she would find the money required. This was Rs. 750,000 for an island-wide sample survey. Nielson Sri Lanka completed the report in three months. Together with the Rs. 400 each member was paid by the ministry as transport cost per meeting, the preparation of the NPD cost just over Rs. 900,000. Our committee took joy comparing this to what the formulation of a draft National Employment Policy cost at about the same time – Rs. 13 million. That cost was met by a foreign donor and the policy was never approved.
During the many meetings that followed, we interviewed dozens of persons, both as individuals and as groups. We had Mrs. J arrange for us interviews with secretaries of ministries, heads of institutions and UN and other agencies, DPOs and NGOs with whom we consulted on the content and formulation of the policy. In this way we benefited from the experience and insight of a countless number of people.
When we presented the National Policy on Disability that our committee had produced to the minister who was at the time Ravindra Samaraweera, he asked me why we had taken four months when he had asked for it in three. But he was pleased and soon had it approved by the Cabinet of Ministers.
Those were Sri Lanka’s good times. Now, but precious memories.
Disability Rights Bill (DRB)
The success achieved by her Ministry with the publication of the National Policy appeared to motivate Mrs. J to take this process further. So within a few months she had appointed another committee to ensure legal validity for the Policy. This time I was appointed Chairperson with no notice of it. The four other members of the committee she selected were all attorneys. One also had experienced disability, having had visual impairment from a very young age. He had his wife read out to him at home the documents that the committee had written or typed as text.
Our mandate was to see if the existing law of 1996 was adequate to implement the NPD. And if it was not, to draft a new Disability Rights Bill. Well, that was how the task was stated, but there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that a new Bill was essential. A new law was needed to ensure the fulfilment of the rights of disabled people.
Preparation for drafting this document required a completely different process. As members, we gathered together all published laws in Sri Lanka that had any relevance to our task. We also gathered together laws that had been made by other countries. Then we sat down to reference these and gather precedent information that we could be used for our draft bill. We also sought the help of many individuals to advise us on sections of the draft.
On completing a preliminary draft, we had the ministry translate it for us into Sinhala and Tamil and opened these to the general public. This preliminary draft was amended with the feedback received. The first draft Disability Rights Bill (2006) was submitted to cabinet for approval as was required at the time. Mrs. J was happy to inform us when approval was received within two weeks.
She asked us whether the committee would continue to help the ministry get the draft through the Legal Draftsman’s Department, which we did with negotiations and simple compromise. We continued to help the Ministry with the next step, which was the Attorney General’s Department.
Here we met our first obstacle. This was the attorney rather junior at the time, tasked with the review and approval of it. We never got it past her. I see that attorney is still in the department, now almost at the top. Well, sad to say, that Bill is still a draft.
Later in 2009, the whole process changed completely. This was when a new Minister came in. He had the bill redrafted by an individual whose name is unknown to this date. Politicisation was in force. Numerous revisions and drafts have been made since then, and the process is even now ongoing. My personal view is that the ministry fears that with a new bill, it will lose control over disabled people and over disability. So, no new Disability Rights Law.
Sad, sad Sri Lanka. Sad for the situation of our disabled people whose rights are yet to be recognised in Law.
Features
Revolt in the Temple: Poverty as Structural Control
The underlying issue in Anuradhapura is a struggle between a few families who, for years, have waged a quiet cold war over control of the Udamaluwa. Similar situations exist in Mihintale as well. These places, among others, are treated as treasures of Buddhism but, in practice, function as tightly controlled economic centres. The same pattern repeats in Kandy around the Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic and in Kataragama at the shrine of God Kataragama. Variations of it exist across religious spaces of Islam, Catholicism, and Hinduism too, where institutional authority becomes indistinguishable from localised power networks. What is presented as sacred order often operates as inherited control.
It is indeed devastating to see situations where parents have no alternative but to expose their children to predators in robes for survival. This has nothing to do with religion itself, but with human pathology in the context of survival. These are the questions that demand answers, not superficial responses that treat symptoms while ignoring the conditions that produce them. What is more shocking and disturbing is not the tragedy itself, but the reactions to it. Social media has overwhelmed us, not towards understanding, but towards a fragmented cognitive state with no exit route.
A friend of mine in Nairobi used to keep all his electronic devices at home and go into the forest once a month, spending days there before returning. He called it “detoxification”, but in reality it was an escape from a system that no longer allows uninterrupted thought. Daily life is now saturated with unnecessary content, and attention itself has become a commodity extracted, processed, and sold back to us. This is where we have become unable to understand what really drives certain tragedies we endlessly react to, while remaining blind to the systems that quietly manufacture them.
Multi-dimensional poverty
Poverty is structural, poverty is political, and poverty is functional; it is a tool and a manoeuvring force of power. The question is no longer whether poverty exists, but who benefits from its persistence, and who is forced to survive within it. From education to medicine to basic food supply chains, countries like Sri Lanka are not simply mismanaged; they are structurally captured by a small number of actors who remain stable regardless of who is formally in power. Small-scale enterprises and NGO circuits that circulate foreign funding to “solve structural issues” often operate as hollow administrative performances, producing reports rather than transformation.
Poverty is not merely the absence of money. It is the absence of bandwidth, absence of protection, absence of time, and absence of cognitive stability. As Sendhil Mullainathan and Eldar Shafir state, “Scarcity captures the mind. Just as the starving subjects had food on their mind, when we experience scarcity of any kind, we become absorbed by it.” This is a description of how human cognition is structurally reorganized under constraint. Scarcity does not sit outside the person; it occupies them.
They also state, “Scarcity leads us to borrow and pushes us deeper into scarcity.” That is the mechanism that must be confronted without euphemism. Poverty is not only deprivation; it is a self-reinforcing trap in which survival decisions generate the next layer of crisis. Once a society crosses a certain threshold of scarcity, it stops producing long-term reasoning as a default condition. It produces short-term survival logic, often mistaken by outsiders for irrationality.
It is precisely here that public discourse becomes intellectually dishonest. Everything is translated into moral language because moral language is easier than structural analysis. But morality without structure becomes theatre. It produces outrage, not understanding, and repetition, not reform.
It is indeed brutal when an individual wearing religious insignia—whether robe, symbol, or institutional identity—is accused of acts that fundamentally contradict the moral authority attached to that position. It is equally brutal when institutions that depend entirely on trust begin to function as shields rather than safeguards. But the deeper question is not shock. The deeper question is what kind of social condition produces families who see placement within such institutions not only as devotion, but as a survival strategy under constraint.
Ethical decision-making
That is where the argument collapses into its most uncomfortable form. Poverty does not produce ethical decision-making environments. It produces constrained optimization under pressure. When food insecurity, debt, and social instability converge, institutional spaces that appear stable become transactional destinations for survival rather than moral choices. To interpret this as purely cultural failure is to deliberately ignore the structural compression of options.
Mullainathan and Shafir describe this clearly: “Instead of saying that scarcity ‘focuses,’ we could just as easily say that scarcity causes us to tunnel: to focus single-mindedly on managing the scarcity at hand.” That tunnelling effect is not abstract. It is visible wherever long-term planning collapses under immediate pressure. Systems then misread this as irresponsibility, when it is in fact cognitive overload produced by structure.
What is rarely acknowledged is how deeply this extends into governance itself. Institutions increasingly operate as if they are managing rational, unconstrained individuals. In reality, they are interacting with populations whose cognitive bandwidth is already structurally taxed. The result is policy failure interpreted as public non-compliance, enforcement interpreted as moral correction, and reform interpreted as communication failure rather than design failure.
Social media has intensified this distortion. It does not merely spread information; it destroys sequencing. Structural problems require temporal depth. Social media removes that depth and replaces it with instantaneous judgment. Every event becomes a surface object, detached from causality. The outcome is a society permanently reacting and never diagnosing.
Poverty, in this environment, becomes invisible in its real form. It is not seen as a continuous structural condition but as episodic failure. A scandal appears, is consumed, and disappears. Another replaces it. Nothing accumulates into understanding because attention itself is exhausted before synthesis can occur.
Modern Condition
The modern condition reflects a reversal of earlier social organization, where human relationships are embedded within abstract systems of finance, law, and administration that often fail to recognize the lived constraints of those they govern. In this disembedded state, institutions increasingly misinterpret human behaviour as their capacity for structural understanding weakens. At the same time, attempts to resolve systemic failures through expanding administrative complexity produce diminishing returns: more regulation, oversight, and reporting generate less coherence. Over time, institutions shift from functional effectiveness to symbolic performance, maintaining the appearance of control rather than achieving it.
This is why public outrage repeatedly fails to translate into structural change. Outrage is not a tool of reconstruction. It is a signal of system fatigue. It circulates, intensifies, and dissipates without altering the underlying architecture. Meanwhile, the conditions that produce repetition remain intact.
The most persistent illusion is that these are separate problems: poverty here, institutional misuse there, media distortion elsewhere. They are not separate. They are expressions of a single condition in which scarcity, complexity, symbolic authority, and fragmented enforcement interact without coordination. The system does not fail in one place; it fails in the gaps between these layers.
Symbolic systems
What makes this condition more severe is that symbolic systems continue to operate at full strength even when structural systems degrade. Religious identity remains powerful. Political rhetoric remains strong. Cultural symbolism remains intact. But enforcement capacity, institutional coherence, and social trust degrade beneath them. That gap is where instability grows. Until that gap is addressed at the level of structure rather than sentiment, repetition remains inevitable. New scandals will emerge, new interpretations will circulate, and new cycles of outrage will follow. Nothing resolves because nothing is being reconstructed beneath the surface of reaction.
This is no longer repairable through adjustment or rhetoric. It is a form of decay that persists until it exhausts itself, because the mechanisms meant to correct it are now part of the same failure. It continues until rupture, not reform. At that point, instability ceases to be episodic and becomes structural. Pressure will accumulate into breakdown, and what follows will not be managed transition but forced reversal. The responsibility lies with those who govern these institutions to prevent that trajectory, not through language, but through change. The drama is ending; farce is over; what we are witnessing is tragedy unfolding with unprecedented consequences.
by Nilantha Ilangamuwa
Features
Are threats to Buddha Sasana external or from within?
As Sri Lanka celebrates the birth, Enlightenment and the Parinibbana of the Buddha, almost a month after the rest of the Buddhist-world did so, there is widespread discussion about threats to Buddha Sasana provoked by some recent incidents. Regarding the views expressed about postponing Vesak celebrations in my article ‘May Day and postponement Vesak 2026’ (The Island, 25 May), my very good friend Dr Upali Abeysiri has sent me the following comments: “The Mahanayakas have a good reason to postpone Vesak. The dawning of the full moon has to be on the same constellation (nekatha) as when the Buddha was born and attained enlightenment. Although Adhi Poya is reckoned as the second full moon arising in the same calendar month, this is supposed to be an odd exception.” Though it would have been ideal if a consensus could have been reached prior to the split of celebrations, perhaps, it does not matter very much as celebrations occur on a symbolic rather than an actual date, there being no historical or archaeological evidence confirming exact dates.
Whilst there are no direct threats to Buddha Dhamma, as the expanding horizons of science continue to confirm the fundamentals of Buddha Dhamma, there is no doubt whatsoever that there are threats to Buddha Sasana. However, these threats become important as the Buddha Sasana performs the pivotal role in protecting and propagating the Dhamma and, hence, become an indirect threat to Dhamma itself. Therefore, it should be the concern of all Buddhists and it is in this spirit I am making some comments which some may interpret as disrespectful to the Maha Sangha. I can reassure that my intentions are entirely directed towards the preservation of the Buddha Dhamma and Sasana. Though the Buddha proclaimed that the Sasana consists of Bhikkhu, Bhikkhuni, Upasaka and Upasika, for all practical purposes Sasana had been led by Bhikkhus, often at the expense of others.
There is hardly any doubt that there are external forces at play in Sri Lanka and even some Buddhists seem to object to Sri Lanka being called a Buddhist country. Interestingly, no one seems to object to countries like the UK and the USA being called Christian counties. I
There is no registration or baptism in Buddhism and there are no rewards for Buddhists for conversions. As I pointed out in a previous article, ‘How does the Buddha differ’ (The Island, 1 May) unlike most other religions, Buddhism is not a ‘high-demand’ religion, nor ‘law-based’ religion and is not exclusivist. Perhaps, it is this liberalism, pacifism and gentleness, which are the real strengths, that are being exploited as weaknesses by others.
There will always be external threats and the Buddha too faced many during his lifetime. Before addressing those, is it not more important to address the threats within? One of the most important problems seems to be the breakdown of discipline. Bhikkhus are bound by Vinaya rules, laid down by the Buddha and some recent incidents highlight total deviations. Though there were many previous incidents like unsubstantiated claims of Arahanthood, Bhikkhus attacking each other on YouTube and Bhikkhus conducting YouTube channels, not for the propagation of the Dhamma but for the accumulation of rupees, attention was focused after the detection of 22 young monks carrying narcotic drugs.
Though many commentators were quick to condemn the Sangha on this account, we need to go deeper. Narcotic menace has become a huge problem in Sri Lanka and it looks as if the drug lords would resort to anything to achieve their objectives. Though it looks as if some gullible young monks had been duped by drug lords, we need to question why it was possible. Is it due to the lack of supervision of these novices by their seniors that allowed them to accept a request in a WhatsApp group? Should there be checks and balances on foreign travel by Bhikkhus?
What shocked Buddhists was what followed next; the arrest of the Nayaka of Atamasthana for allegedly having sex with a minor. Anuradhapura was our first capital and Sri Maha Bodhi is the longest surviving authenticated tree in the world. Ruwanweliseya and Jetawanaramaya were among the ten tallest man-made structures in the ancient world, Jetawanaramaya still holding the Guiness record for the largest stupa in the world. Cyberspace is full of theories. Whilst some have condemned the Nayaka Thero even before the conclusion of inquiries whilst others claim that this was a coup by another Nayaka Thera in an attempt of succession.
I was intrigued, reading in a Sri Lankan newspaper about the 80th birthday celebrations of a Nayaka priest, who was convicted in London in 2012 of historical child sex abuse and sentenced to seven years in prison. I remember the case very well as he was the head of the Vihara, we had our first contact on relocating to the UK. I also remember his devotees, who believed that he was wrongly accused, collecting over £50,000 for an appeal. In spite of being represented by one of the top Barristers in the UK, the conviction was upheld but the jail-term was reduced by a year. His name is still on the sex-offenders register in the UK and he is permanently prevented from association with children. One can argue that as he has served the sentence and not reoffended, this should not be held against him but what baffled me is that he is still being referred to as the Chief Sangha Nayaka. Should a person on the sex-offenders register be the Chief Sangha Nayaka?
It is high time we put our own house in order before fighting the external enemies. It is reported that the former president CBK has written to the Mahanayakas requesting urgent reform and we should be obliged to her for taking the lead.
There are many aspects that need urgent reform, the first being removal of caste barriers practiced by some Nikayas, which is the greatest insult to the Buddha who promoted equality. The second is the active encouragement of Bhikkhuni Sasana which has not happened in spite of the landmark ruling by the supreme court. The third is the establishment of proper disciplinary processes under a single Adhikarana Sangha Nayaka with powers and support than allowing the government to take over the control of even non-criminal Vinaya matters.
There are many other issues that need settlement like the controversy of the land of Buddha’s birth which seems to linger on. An expert committee should hear all evidence and settle this issue once and for all.
As I have pointed out on many occasions in these columns, it is high time a Dhamma Sangayana was held, as the last one was 70 years ago. Ideally, it should be different with active participation of lay experts as well. It is the duty of us Buddhists to ensure that the words of wisdom of the Buddha continue to enlighten generations to come.
By Dr Upul Wijayawardhana
Features
Vijaya Kumar: Academic, Activist & Genial Fellow-Traveller
The University of Ceylon, Peradeniya, was in our time, a less-crowded residential university, where everybody knew everybody else or at least knew of everybody else.
I knew of Emeritus Professor Vijaya Kumar of the Department of Chemistry at Peradeniya, or Kumar, as we referred to him fondly, before I got to know him. His dear wife Savitri, also a member of the academic staff of the Department of Chemistry, was nicknamed Kumee, by some of their students (of which vintage is unknown to me) and the duo were thereafter referred to affectionately as Kumar and Kumee.
The Faculty of Science became a regular haunt of mine as I would go there in the company of my batchmates to attend lectures on Basic Mathematics given by Professor Maheswaran, as it was a requirement for our General Arts Qualifying Examinations. I would also go there to listen to some excellent talks under a programme that was held in the auditorium of the Science Faculty referred to as “Popular Science Gossip”. The “gossip” at these talks were not confined solely to science but were broad enough to include Literature, History and other branches of knowledge as well. I would often spot Kumar in the audience at these talks or bump into him in the corridors of the Science Faculty. But I got to know him personally only after he became the Warden of Arunachalam, my hall of residence, during my undergraduate years initially, and later, as a member of the academic staff of the Department of English.
Our Science Faculty undergraduate contemporaries, especially those at Arunachalam Hall and its immediate neighbour, Jayatilaka Hall, both within a stone’s throw away from the Science Faculty, shared many an anecdote about Kumar and their other lecturers. One of these anecdotes, had to do with a spectacular (motor car) driving feat of Kumar’s. Legend has it that he drove from his university bungalow-home to the Faculty of Science deploying only the reverse gear of his car! Kumar, on hearing of this, had told certain of his student friends, including some who became his colleagues later on, that this story is one of the biggest yarns he had heard in his life!
Some of his one-time younger colleagues, now in retirement like Kumar, tell me that Kumar exuded warmth and friendliness in all of his professional and administrative interactions with others in the wider university community. But there was no warmth or mercy for those who indulged in the unsavoury pastime of student ‘ragging’. He was a very strong proponent of the need to ensure to all freshers an environment free of the menace of ‘ragging’. He remained ever-vigilant during the ‘ragging’ season. There are stories of his chasing ‘raggers’ and catching them. Professor Maheswaran, who later became an intimate friend and remains so after more than half a century, was another who was fiercely opposed to ‘ragging’. I was a personal witness to Mahes chasing a ‘ragger’ up and down the stairs of the main library to nab him. Yet another of his students has noted that Kumar’s office room in the Faculty was a total mess at all times. It had tables, piled so high with books and documents that one could not easily spot Kumar at his desk. He, however, had the knack of pulling out from amidst the clutter, any document that he needed at any given time. If anybody were to volunteer to help tidy his desk, Kumar would respond firmly with “Don’t you touch my desk!”.
Kumar, like several of his colleagues in the other faculties as well, had his own eccentricities. According to information received from reliable sources, Kumar who taught Organic Chemistry used to carry his lecture notes in his shirt or trouser pocket with ‘the entire lecture condensed in point form on a half-sheet or half of a half-sheet of paper’. The way he rummaged through his sling bag filled to the brim with stuff to find an item that he needed was another ritual that amused onlookers.
Kumar, interestingly enough is a Royal-cum-Thomian product, in that he had his primary education at S.Thomas’ Prep School, Kollupitiya and the entirety of his secondary education at Royal College, which he entered in 1953. In a note written by Kumar himself, he notes that despite having had excellent teachers at Royal, his was not a notable school career. He goes on to say that “the only achievement I could boast of was my being the joint-winner of the school General Knowledge Prize”. However, he had been active in a Scout Group outside of school (1st Port of Colombo, Sea Scouts) where he “was Queen’s Scout, Patrol leader, and later, Assistant Scout Master”.
Kumar entered the Faculty of Science of the University of Ceylon in 1961 and secured from it an honours degree in Chemistry in 1965. He joined the academic staff of the Department of Chemistry in the Faculty of Science, University of Ceylon, Peradeniya in 1965 and left the following year for Magdalen College at Oxford University, from which institution he obtained his doctorate in Chemistry. His entire teaching career was at Peradeniya, where in the period 2003-2006 he served as the Dean of the Faculty of Science, a position that his late father-in-law had held a few decades earlier.
Among the other highlights of his career are: Chairman of the Industrial Technology Institute (formerly the Ceylon Institute of Scientific and Industrial Research, CISIR); Member (representing Sri Lanka) of the Geneva-based UN Commission on Science and Technology from 1999 to 2007 and its President from 2001-2003; President of the Sri Lanka Estate Workers Union from 1989 onwards; Member of the Politburo of the Lanka Sama Samaja Party from 1988 to 2014 and currently, a member of the Executive Committee of the National People’s Power (NPP).
Vijaya and Savitri Kumar are parents of daughters Shamala and Ramya, who are following in the footsteps of their parents: with the former teaching in the Department of Agricultural Economics in the Faculty of Agriculture, University of Peradeniya and the latter, in the Department of Community Medicine at the University of Jaffna.
(I wish to thank the following who assisted me in the writing of this brief essay: Mr. Bandula Warnakulasuriya, Emeritus Professor Ratnayake Bandara, Professor Mahinda Wickramaratne, Professor Swarna Wimalasiri and Mr. Manik de Silva).
*Editor’s note: Prof. Vijaya Kumar, a member of the NPP’s National Executive Committee and is still active in politics turns 84 today. This article by Tissa Jayatilaka, former Executive Director of the United States – Sri Lanka Fulbright Commission for Mutual Academic Exchange, was written for an upcoming collection of essays on Kumar’s life by his friends.
(Colombo Telegraph)
By Tissa Jayatilaka
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