Features
From Pettah to Cotta
By Uditha Devapriya
Historically, the city of Colombo always faced a conflict, or contradiction, between an almost endless set of high-rise buildings and largely poorly constructed streets. As far back as 1907, for instance, it was observed that “large improvements would have to be carried out in the direction of widening such streets, while legislation by the Municipal Council should be enacted to “fix the line of streets and prevent encroachment thereon”, which would have saved money spent on buying buildings, “the erection of which ought never have been allowed.” The gap between the affluent and depressed wards not surprisingly became a cause for worry: the “native wards” were all “deficient”, with the exception of the European and chief residential quarters, which appeared “well provided.”.
There was, of course, a Colombo that existed before all this. The Rajavaliya referred to it as “Kalan Thota” or “Kelani Ferry.” Emerson Tennent has noted that the Moors, who took over the coast and harbour in the 12th and 13th centuries, renamed it as “Kalambu” or “a good harbour.” It gained prominence gradually thereafter: Ibn Batuta would describe it as “the finest town in Serendib.” The town remained under the control of a Muslim Vizier named Jalestie. Tennent observed that this was because the Sinhalese were uninterested in trade, which is somewhat true: as K. M. de Silva notes in A History of Sri Lanka, the principal source of royal income in Kotte was not trade, but rather land revenue.
Kotte would, of course, bear witness to two wars of succession, both compounded by Portuguese presence in the island. The latter were concerned with two priorities: gaining a monopoly over the cinnamon trade, and establishing commerce in Colombo.
According to de Silva, the first objective was generally considered less important than the first, but it nevertheless was crucial for the ambitious imperialists to gain control over the area; to this end they established an unfortified fort in Colombo for trading purposes. It is with the advent of the Portuguese, moreover, that Kalambu became Colombo: a name that more or less “approached that of Columbus”. But it was more than a change of name: as the Census of 1946 notes, under the Portuguese the city transformed from “a small stockade of wood” to “a gallant city fortified with a dozen bastions.”
But the Portuguese and the Dutch after them had to contend with two seemingly never-ending conflicts in the country: between the Kotte Kingdom and colonial authorities on the one hand and the Kotte Kingdom and pretenders from Sitawaka and Kandy on the other. The wars of succession weakened Kotte, and the Sinhalese monarchs, whose interest in trade depleted, in effect handed over commercial matters to colonial authorities. Despite this, however, authorities were never able to expand the city beyond Pettah, “between the lake at one side and the rocks, which form the harbour, on the other.” It was left to British officials to develop Colombo into more than just a military enclave.
To begin with, the British made use of what the Portuguese and the Dutch had left behind. The former especially had turned Colombo into a fortress. After the conquest of Kandy in 1815, the British began tapping into the region’s commercial potential in a way their predecessors had not. Once again it was the port which facilitated this shift in policy; by 1907 it had become “one of the principal ports of call of the world”, and was described as “the Clapham Junction of the East.” The British added a railway system to the shipping line; here too Colombo became the centre. Over the years the Fort area changed: it became a hub for government establishments, banking houses, and European businesses.
Interestingly, despite its veneer of sophistication and grace, British officials were not impressed with the new capital. “Colombo presents little to attract a stranger,” noted Tennent in 1859, and he had much to complain about: “the prevalence of damp”, “the nightly serenade of frogs”, and worst of all, “the tormenting profusion of mosquitoes” which had lead to outbreaks of dengue that had never visited the better developed areas of the municipality. Through all this, incidentally, a gap emerged between the centre and the periphery, in effect between the affluent and the indigent wards.
At first it was the areas developed by the Portuguese and Dutch which became hotspots for the colonial officials and the native elite. The area from Fort to Hulftsdorp, which James Cordiner had once described as “a more comfortable residence for a garrison than any other military station in India”, would in 40 years turn into what Prince Alexey Saltykov described as “a botanical garden on a gigantic scale.” This was facilitated by several factors: the breakdown of the old order, the shift from the interior to the littoral, and the emergence of a plantation economy. Moreover, Prince Saltykov made his remark about Colombo at a time when the old elite was yielding place to a new bourgeoisie.
The transition from a mercantilist to a semi-feudal economy in the first half of the 19th century was accompanied by the rise of a new colonial bourgeoisie. While the traditional elite had depended on the patronage of the British officials in terms of land bequests and perpetuation of familial dynasties (which led to the concentration of power within the Bandaranaike-Obeyesekere clique), the bourgeoisie took advantage of favourable economic conditions and prospered through capitalist-rentier enterprises.

Arrack renting became the main avenue of growth for the nouveau riche; by 1876 the annual rents from this trade amounted to £ 218,600 (£ 28,035,560 or Rs. 12,093,260,379 when adjusted for inflation). Profits from the arrack trade, however, were never invested in productive enterprises (as they were in other colonies) and were instead invested in coffee, coconut, graphite, and plumbago on the one hand and items of conspicuous consumption which helped distinguish them from the rest of the country on the other. Property in this regard was seen as paramount; it had a say in how the “posh neighbourhoods” shifted from Pettah, Hulftsdorp, and Maradana to Cotta, Colpetty, and Cinnamon Gardens.
Initially, the elite purchased land in the Pettah-Maradana-Kotahena-Mutwal area. Even in the last few decades of the century these places were at the forefront of British colonial activity in terms of commerce and education: all the major credit institutions were in the Pettah, while the two biggest schools in the country (one public, the other private) were established there: the Colombo Academy in Hill Street (the first batch of which consisted of 21 students from elite Burgher families within the neighbourhood, among them Richard Morgan, Charles Loos, and Christoffel de Saram) in 1836, and S. Thomas’ College in Mutwal 17 years later. This is certainly not to forget the Medical College and the Law College, built respectively in 1870 and 1874.
These trends were reflected in the lands purchased and palatial residences built during the period: Solomon Dias Bandaranaike, S. C. Obeyesekere, and G. G. Ponnambalam all built their manors in Hulftsdorp. Vinod Moonesinghe contends that long before Cinnamon Gardens became a plush neighbourhood, “the prime residential areas were Mutwal (for Europeans) and Kotahena (for locals), plus Grandpass for ‘country homes’.”
According to Moonesinghe, land values in Cinnamon Gardens rose after the Race Course moved from Galle Face, and the “process of gentrification” in the area culminated when Royal College shifted to its current location in 1912. But even then, this process was not fully complete: as Denham notes in Ceylon at the Census of 1911, while land in Cinnamon Gardens fetched Rs. 5,000 per acre, land near the Slave Island, Maradana, and Pettah stations fetched more than four times that amount. In other words, it would take another 30 years for the shift from one part of Colombo to another to complete.
The writer is an international relations analyst, researcher, and columnist who can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com
Features
Ethnic-related problems need solutions now
In the space of 15 months, President Anura Kumara Dissanayake has visited the North of the country more than any other president or prime minister. These were not flying visits either. The president most recent visit to Jaffna last week was on the occasion of Thai Pongal to celebrate the harvest and the dawning of a new season. During the two days he spent in Jaffna, the president launched the national housing project, announced plans to renovate Palaly Airport, to expedite operations at the Kankesanthurai Port, and pledged once again that racism would have no place in the country.
There is no doubt that the president’s consistent presence in the north has had a reassuring effect. His public rejection of racism and his willingness to engage openly with ethnic and religious minorities have helped secure his acceptance as a national leader rather than a communal one. In the fifteen months since he won the presidential election, there have been no inter community clashes of any significance. In a country with a long history of communal tension, this relative calm is not accidental. It reflects a conscious political choice to lower the racial temperature rather than inflame it.
But preventing new problems is only part of the task of governing. While the government under President Dissanayake has taken responsibility for ensuring that anti-minority actions are not permitted on its watch, it has yet to take comparable responsibility for resolving long standing ethnic and political problems inherited from previous governments. These problems may appear manageable because they have existed for years, even decades. Yet their persistence does not make them innocuous. Beneath the surface, they continue to weaken trust in the state and erode confidence in its ability to deliver justice.
Core Principle
A core principle of governance is responsibility for outcomes, not just intentions. Governments do not begin with a clean slate. Governments do not get to choose only the problems they like. They inherit the state in full, with all its unresolved disputes, injustices and problemmatic legacies. To argue that these are someone else’s past mistakes is politically convenient but institutionally dangerous. Unresolved problems have a habit of resurfacing at the most inconvenient moments, often when a government is trying to push through reforms or stabilise the economy.
This reality was underlined in Geneva last week when concerns were raised once again about allegations of sexual abuse that occurred during the war, affecting both men and women who were taken into government custody. Any sense that this issue had faded from international attention was dispelled by the release of a report by the Office of the Human Rights High Commissioner titled “Sri Lanka: Report on conflict related sexual violence”, dated 13.01.26. Such reports do not emerge in a vacuum. They are shaped by the absence of credible domestic processes that investigate allegations, establish accountability and offer redress. They also shape international perceptions, influence diplomatic relationships and affect access to cooperation and support.
Other unresolved problems from the past continue to fester. These include the continued detention of Tamil prisoners under the Prevention of Terrorism Act, in some cases for many years without conclusion, the failure to return civilian owned land taken over by the military during the war, and the fate of thousands of missing persons whose families still seek answers. These are not marginal issues even when they are not at the centre stage. They affect real lives and entire communities. Their cumulative effect is corrosive, undermining efforts to restore normalcy and rebuild confidence in public institutions.
Equal Rights
Another area where delay will prove costly is the resettlement of Malaiyaha Tamil communities affected by the recent cyclone in the central hills, which was the worst affected region in the country. Even as President Dissanayake celebrated Thai Pongal in Jaffna to the appreciation of the people there, Malaiyaha Tamils engaged in peaceful campaigns to bring attention to their unresolved problems. In Colombo at the Liberty Roundabout, a number of them gathered to symbolically celebrate Thai Pongal while also bringing national attention to the issues of their community, in particular the problem of displacement after the cyclone.
The impact of the cyclone, and the likelihood of future ones under conditions of climate change, make it necessary for the displaced Malaiyaha Tamils to be found new places of residence. This is also an opportunity to tackle the problem of their landlessness in a comprehensive manner and make up for decades if not two centuries of inequity.
Planning for relocation and secure housing is good governance. This needs to be done soon. Climate related disasters do not respect political timetables. They punish delay and indecision. A government that prides itself on system change cannot respond to such challenges with temporary fixes.
The government appears concerned that finding new places for the Malaiyaha Tamil people to be resettled will lead to land being taken away from plantation companies which are said to be already struggling for survival. Due to the economic crisis the country has faced since it went bankrupt in 2022, the government has been deferential to the needs of company owners who are receiving most favoured treatment. As a result, the government is contemplating solutions such as high rise apartments and townhouse style housing to minimise the use of land.
Such solutions cannot substitute for a comprehensive strategy that includes consultations with the affected population and addresses their safety, livelihoods and community stability.
Lose Trust
Most of those who voted for the government at the last elections did so in the hope that it would bring about system change. They did not vote for the government to reinforce the same patterns that the old system represented. At its core, system change means rebalancing priorities. It means recognising that economic efficiency without social justice is a short-term gain with long-term costs. It means understanding that unresolved ethnic grievances, unaddressed wartime abuses and unequal responses to disaster will eventually undermine any development programme, no matter how well designed. Governance that postpones difficult decisions may buy time, but lose trust.
The coming year will therefore be decisive. The government must show that its commitment to non racism and inclusion extends beyond conflict prevention to conflict resolution. Addressing conflict related abuses, concluding long standing detentions, returning land, accounting for the missing and securing dignified resettlement for displaced communities are not distractions from the government programme. They are central to it. A government committed to genuine change must address the problems it inherited, or run the risk of being overwhelmed when those problems finally demand settlement.
by Jehan Perera
Features
Education. Reform. Disaster: A Critical Pedagogical Approach
This Kuppi writing aims to engage critically with the current discussion on the reform initiative “Transforming General Education in Sri Lanka 2025,” focusing on institutional and structural changes, including the integration of a digitally driven model alongside curriculum development, teacher training, and assessment reforms. By engaging with these proposed institutional and structural changes through the parameters of the division and recognition of labour, welfare and distribution systems, and lived ground realities, the article develops a critical perspective on the current reform discourse. By examining both the historical context and the present moment, the article argues that these institutional and structural changes attempt to align education with a neoliberal agenda aimed at enhancing the global corporate sector by producing “skilled” labour. This agenda is further evaluated through the pedagogical approach of socialist feminist scholarship. While the reforms aim to produce a ‘skilled workforce with financial literacy,’ this writing raises a critical question: whose labour will be exploited to achieve this goal? Why and What Reform to Education
In exploring why, the government of Sri Lanka seeks to introduce reforms to the current education system, the Prime Minister and Minister of Education, Higher Education, and Vocational Education, Dr. Harini Amarasuriya, revealed in a recent interview on 15 January 2026 on News First Sri Lanka that such reforms are a pressing necessity. According to the philosophical tradition of education reform, curriculum revision and prevailing learning and teaching structures are expected every eight years; however, Sri Lanka has not undertaken such revisions for the past ten years. The renewal of education is therefore necessary, as the current system produces structural issues, including inequality in access to quality education and the need to create labour suited to the modern world. Citing her words, the reforms aim to create “intelligent, civil-minded citizens” in order to build a country where people live in a civilised manner, work happily, uphold democratic principles, and live dignified lives.
Interpreting her narrative, I claim that the reform is intended to produce, shape, and develop a workforce for the neoliberal economy, now centralised around artificial intelligence and machine learning. My socialist feminist perspective explains this further, referring to Rosa Luxemburg’s reading on reforms for social transformation. As Luxemburg notes, although the final goal of reform is to transform the existing order into a better and more advanced system: The question remains: does this new order truly serve the working class? In the case of education, the reform aims to transform children into “intelligent, civil-minded citizens.” Yet, will the neoliberal economy they enter, and the advanced technological industries that shape it, truly provide them a better life, when these industries primarily seek surplus profit?
History suggests otherwise. Sri Lanka has repeatedly remained at the primary manufacturing level within neoliberal industries. The ready-made garment industry, part of the global corporate fashion system, provides evidence: it exploited both manufacturing labourers and brand representatives during structural economic changes in the 1980s. The same pattern now threatens to repeat in the artificial intelligence sector, raising concerns about who truly benefits from these education reforms
That historical material supports the claim that the primary manufacturing labour for the artificial intelligence industry will similarly come from these workers, who are now being trained as skilled employees who follow the system rather than question it. This context can be theorised through Luxemburg’s claim that critical thinking training becomes a privileged instrument, alienating the working class from such training, an approach that neoliberalism prefers to adopt in the global South.
Institutional and Structural Gaps
Though the government aims to address the institutional and structural gaps, I claim that these gaps will instead widen due to the deeply rooted system of uneven distribution in the country. While agreeing to establish smart classrooms, the critical query is the absence of a wide technological welfare system across the country. From electricity to smart equipment, resources remain inadequate, and the government lags behind in taking prompt initiative to meet these requirements.
This issue is not only about the unavailability of human and material infrastructure, but also about the absence of a plan to restore smart normalcy after natural disasters, particularly the resumption of smart network connections. Access to smart learning platforms, such as the internet, for schoolchildren is a high-risk factor that requires not only the monitoring of classroom teachers but also the involvement of the state. The state needs to be vigilant of abuses and disinformation present in the smart-learning space, an area in which Sri Lanka is still lagging. This concern is not only about the safety of children but also about the safety of women. For example, the recent case of abusive image production via Elon Musk’s AI chatbox, X, highlights the urgent need for a legal framework in Sri Lanka.
Considering its geographical location, Sri Lanka is highly vulnerable to natural disasters, the frequency in which they occur, increasing, owing to climate change. Ditwah is a recent example, where villages were buried alive by landslides, rivers overflowed, and families were displaced, losing homes that they had built over their lifetimes. The critical question, then, is: despite the government’s promise to integrate climate change into the curriculum, how can something still ‘in the air ‘with climate adaptation plans yet to be fully established, be effectively incorporated into schools?
Looking at the demographic map of the country, the expansion of the elderly population, the dependent category, requires attention. Considering the physical and psychological conditions of this group, fostering “intelligent, civic-minded” citizens necessitates understanding the elderly not as a charity case but as a human group deserving dignity. This reflects a critical reading of the reform content: what, indeed, is to be taught? This critical aspect further links with the next section of reflective of ground reality.
Reflective Narrative of Ground Reality
Despite the government asserting that the “teacher” is central to this reform, critical engagement requires examining how their labour is recognised. In Sri Lanka, teachers’ work has long been tied to social recognition, both utilised and exploited, Teachers receive low salaries while handling multiple roles: teaching, class management, sectional duties, and disciplinary responsibilities.
At present, a total teaching load is around 35 periods a week, with 28 periods spent in classroom teaching. The reform adds continuous assessments, portfolio work, projects, curriculum preparation, peer coordination, and e-knowledge, to the teacher’s responsibilities. These are undeclared forms of labour, meaning that the government assigns no economic value to them; yet teachers perform these tasks as part of a long-standing culture. When this culture is unpacked, the gendered nature of this undeclared labour becomes clear. It is gendered because the majority of schoolteachers are women, and their unpaid roles remain unrecognised. It is worth citing some empirical narratives to illustrate this point:
“When there was an extra-school event, like walks, prize-giving, or new openings, I stayed after school to design some dancing and practice with the students. I would never get paid for that extra time,” a female dance teacher in the Western Province shared.
I cite this single empirical account, and I am certain that many teachers have similar stories to share.
Where the curriculum is concerned, schoolteachers struggle to complete each lesson as planned due to time constraints and poor infrastructure. As explained by a teacher in the Central Province:
“It is difficult to have a reliable internet connection. Therefore, I use the hotspot on my phone so the children can access the learning material.”
Using their own phones and data for classroom activities is not part of a teacher’s official duties, but a culture has developed around the teaching role that makes such decisions necessary. Such activities related to labour risks further exploitation under the reform if the state remains silent in providing the necessary infrastructure.
Considering that women form the majority of the teaching profession, none of the reforms so far have taken women’s health issues seriously. These issues could be exacerbated by the extra stress arising from multiple job roles. Many female teachers particularly those with young children, those in peri- or post-menopause stages of their life, or those with conditions like endometriosis may experience aggravated health problems due to work-related stress intensified by the reform. This raises a critical question: what role does the state play in addressing these issues?
In Conclusion
The following suggestions are put forward:
First and foremost, the government should clearly declare the fundamental plan of the reform, highlighting why, what, when, and how it will be implemented. This plan should be grounded in the realities of the classroom, focusing on being child-centred and teacher-focused.
Technological welfare interventions are necessary, alongside a legal framework to ensure the safety and security of accessing the smart, information-centred world. Furthermore, teachers’ labour should be formally recognised and assigned economic value. Currently, under neoliberal logic, teachers are often left to navigate these challenges on their own, as if the choice is between survival or collapse.
Aruni Samarakoon teaches at the Department of Public Policy, University of Ruhuna
Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies.
By Aruni Samarakoon
Features
Smartphones and lyrics stands…
Diliup Gabadamudalige is, indeed, a maestro where music is concerned, and this is what he had to say, referring to our Seen ‘N’ Heard in The Island of 6th January, 2026, and I totally agree with his comments.
Diliup: “AI avatars will take over these concerts. It will take some time, but it surely will happen in the near future. Artistes can stay at home and hire their avatar for concerts, movies, etc. Lyrics and dance moves, even gymnastics can be pre-trained”.
Yes, and that would certainly be unsettling as those without talent will make use of AI to deceive the public.
Right now at most events you get the stage crowded with lyrics stands and, to make matters even worse, some of the artistes depend on the smartphone to put over a song – checking out the lyrics, on the smartphone, every few seconds!
In the good ole days, artistes relied on their talent, stage presence, and memorisation skills to dominate the stage.
They would rehearse till they knew the lyrics by heart and focus on connecting with the audience.

Smartphones and lyrics stands: A common sight these days
The ability of the artiste to keep the audience entertained, from start to finish, makes a live performance unforgettable That’s the magic of a great show!
When an artiste’s energy is contagious, and they’re clearly having a blast, the audience feeds off it and gets taken on an exciting ride. It’s like the whole crowd is vibing on the same frequency.
Singing with feeling, on stage, creates this electric connection with the audience, but it can’t be done with a smartphone in one hand and lyrics stands lined up on the stage.
AI’s gonna shake things up in the music scene, for sure – might replace some roles, like session musicians or sound designers – but human talent will still shine!
AI can assist, but it’s tough to replicate human emotion, experience, and soul in music.
In the modern world, I guess artistes will need to blend old-school vibes with new tech but certainly not with smartphones and lyrics stands!
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