Features

Implementing the Paddy Lands Act of 1958 – the Cultivation Committees

Published

6 years ago

2021/01/17

Sahan Weerasooriya

by Chandra Arulpragasam

Introduction: A Personal Note

In the CCS in early 1958, I was appointed Deputy Commissioner of the Agrarian Services Department, in charge of implementing the Paddy Lands Act of 1958. In setting out to draft the Administrative Regulations under the Act, I came across a number of structural, legal and operational considerations, which probably had not been foreseen by its authors. This was probably the first time that it was being looked at by an administrator with field experience – and the first time that it was being looked at by someone who was new to the Paddy Lands Act and to its thinking.

First, from a conceptual side, the concept and design of the Act did not fit, for example, the agrarian conditions of the Batticaloa district, which raised some problems of implementation. Secondly, because of the Act’s contentious nature, its legal provisions were likely to be challenged and its implementation obstructed. This made it necessary to examine its provisions from an adversarial point of view – which revealed many legal and administrative vulnerabilities. Thirdly, there were new problems of implementation. For example, the Act safeguarded tenants, but there were no records of tenants or of landlords. New records of land ownership, tenancy, etc. would have to be created from scratch before implementation could even begin.

In comparison, the land records in India, Pakistan and Bangladesh had been built up over a period of 200 years by the British imperial power. How could such records be created within six months before the Act would become operational in six districts of the country – as stipulated in the Act? Moreover, there were all sorts of potential legal and administrative problems in the elections of the Cultivation Committees. And so on.

The Commissioner of Agrarian Services happened to be abroad for three weeks. Thus, not only was I was the Acting Head of a Class I, Grade 1 Department at the age of 28 years, but I also needed policy-level help, because this was hitherto unchartered territory in the country. So I asked for an appointment with the Minister of Agriculture, Mr. Phillip Gunawardene, the author of the Act, whom I had never met or seen before. The Minister was charming, affable and even fatherly, over a cup of tea and cakes in Parliament. Getting down to business, I brought to his notice the number of legal difficulties and some of the administrative problems that needed his guidance.

I was so intent on my presentation of the potential legal problems of the Cultivation Committees that I failed to notice that he had tossed his spectacles on the table, which was a sign (I was told later) that he was losing his patience – and his temper. I was only half way through my list when he suddenly banged his fist on the table with a loud noise, stopping me abruptly. “Young man” he exclaimed: “Have you come across these difficulties in the field – or are they in your head?” When I pointed weakly to my head, “Go and work”, he thundered! “And when you come across these problems, then you come to me!” In complete disarray, I scooped up my files and scooted from Parliament, leaving a trail of paper in my wake! This was the first and last time that I saw Mr. Phillip Gunawardene.

Within a few months, he was isolated and pushed out of the Cabinet, to be succeeded as Minister of Agriculture by Mr. C. P. de Silva. This resulted in two difficulties that I had to face. Within a few months, every one of the legal and administrative problems that I had raised with the Minister had actually come to pass. But secondly, when I needed ministerial help, Mr. Phillip Gunawardene, was no longer there. Instead, there was a new Minister, Mr. C.P de Silva, his political foe, who was actually opposed to the Act, and who decided to let it fester in its own legal difficulties so as to discredit it countrywide. In fact, I had to battle with the new Minister to amend the Act in order to give effect to the intentions of Parliament, or to repeal it. I gathered that he was not prepared to go to Parliament to publicly repeal it, since it was publicly popular. As late as 1960, I was struggling to get the same loopholes plugged that I had pointed out to the former Minister (Mr. Philip Gunawardene) in 1958.

Although upset by my encounter with Mr.Phillip Gunawardene, I came later to recognize that I had been looking at it only from my own administive and legal point of view, not appreciating his political difficulties in going back to Parliament for amendments before implementation had even began! Although I never met Mr. Gunawardene thereafter, he must have appreciated my work, for he later paid me a handsome compliment in Parliament, as recorded in Hansard.

New Ideas: The Role of the Cultivation Committees

Starting from the premise that the state machinery, especially at lower levels, was subject to the influence of the landlords, the Paddy Lands Act created a new Agrarian Services Department at national level, devoted to its implementation. Moreover, in order to bypass the lower level of administration at field level (which was thought to be under landlord influence), it created Cultivation Committees with assured majorities for the actual cultivators. This attempt to bias the administration in favour of the weaker sections of the agrarian society represented a change from the view prevailing from colonial times, namely, that the administration would be neutral in its dealings with all sections of the public. It is relevant to note here that most of the agrarian reform programmes in Latin America started from the same premise. Similarly, they opted for separate, dedicated agencies for the implementation of their land reforms, outside their existing ministries. The experiences of Japan, South Korea and Taiwan were quite different because their land reforms were carried out under martial law, or with the active backing of the military.

The Act was also innovatory in that it represented the first time in any country in South and South East Asia that legal powers in the implementation of tenurial reforms and the management of irrigation and cultivation at field levels were given to an elected body. The idea that an elected body of semi-educated farmers could take over functions from the government bureaucracy was clearly revolutionary at that time. For example, since the rent payable on a particular field was fixed as one-fourth share of the harvest, how could a distant court know how much the gross harvest of a particular field was? The Act recognized that such factual questions at field level could only be answered at field level. The failure to recognize this and to provide for beneficiary participation in implementing such reforms has been one of the greatest weaknesses of similar programmes in other countries of the region at that time.

The first role of the Cultivation Committees was to help in the implementation of the tenancy provisions of the Act (Sections 8-19). The Committees were also authorized to act as intermediaries between landlord and tenant in the collection of rents, etc., thus reducing the personal hold of landlords over their tenants. The Cultivation Committees were thus expected to play an important socio-psychological role in bolstering the confidence of the tenant-cultivators to actively claim their rights under the law.

Secondly, the Cultivation Committees were given important development functions, with powers for the advancement of paddy cultivation in their areas. They were given access to technical advice in the form of Agricultural Extension Officers and Village Cultivation Officers, who were made ex-officio members of the Committees; but with a right only to speak but not to vote at their meetings. It was hoped that with such technical advice emanating from within, and adopted by the Committees, would enable both paddy production and water-management to be greatly improved by the farmers, acting on their own volition..

A third major innovatory function of the Cultivation Committees was in respect of (irrigation) water management, with the Committees taking over the functions of the Irrigation Headmen (Vel Vidanes) at field level. These functions, among others, included enforcement of rules relating to cultivation dates, clearing of channels, fencing, etc, as well as improving water management. This was in a context where bureaucratic and technical means of water management at field level had already failed. The Paddy Lands Act of 1958 thus predated international recognition of the need for farmer participation in water-management by at least 20 years! In practice, however, the Cultivation Committees under the Act of 1958 never made any progress in this field because they were legally invalidated soon after their formation.

A fourth innovation was in the field of agricultural extension. It was evident then, and more evident now, that agricultural extension systems based on the western models of one extension worker dealing face-to-face with each individual farmer were completely unrealistic in most developing countries with a multitude of small farmers. For example, in Nepal, an extension agent would have to walk one whole day to even reach 50 farmers in remote vellages! No developing country in the world could afford such a system in the context of multiple small farmers, which would require a quadrupling or more of extension workers. Ironically, this has been the recommendation of FAO and the World Bank for decades since the Paddy Lands Act of 1958! It is therefore obvious that a two-stage system or a group system of extension had to be devised, either with the extension agent working through farmer leaders, or through a system of group-extension, as envisaged by the Paddy Lands Act. Thus, the Act’s introduction of such a group extension system with farmer education and participation in the planning and implementation of such self-decided programmes of agricultural development was at least 40 years ahead of its time.

Lastly, the tenurial provisions of the Paddy Lands Act needed to be supported by a broader package of institutional support for smallholder agriculture, in order for the Act itself to be effective. Such a package was provided by the establishment of the multipurpose cooperatives, agricultural credit for smallholders, a fertilizer subsidy, a guaranteed price for paddy and a pilot crop insurance scheme. It is important to recognize that the Green Revolution could not have taken off in Sri Lanka around 1967 if the institutional support structure for small-scale paddy farming had not been laid in the late 1950s, alongside and with the Paddy Lands Act.

While the Act provided for an active role by farmers’ organizations (the Cultivation Committees), it is clear that the latter were not neutral farmer organizations. It was known, for example, that the village cooperatives in most countries of South Asia were under the control of the big landlords. The Paddy Lands Act, therefore, went to great lengths to neutralize the overweening power of the landlords by weighting these Committees heavily in favour of the actual cultivators. The landlords, however, retaliated by getting the Cultivation Committees declared legally invalid. This had the effect of cutting off the implementation structure at the knees, with no feet on the ground, making field level implementation impossible.

Thus one of the main laudatory features of the Act, namely, its provision for beneficiary participation, proved also to be its Achilles heel, leading ultimately to its collapse. Although such local farmers’ associations weighted in favour of the actual tillers succeeded in Japan, Taiwan and South Korea, they were supported by martial law, or by military force. In contrast, our Cultivation Committees were subject to a judicial system under the rule of law in a democracy. In fact, it even allowed a President of a Village Tribunal to famously declare from the bench: “Pillippua Parippua-ge kumburu panatha appete epa” (We do not want lousy Phillip’s Paddy Lands Act!)

The Department of Agrarian Services organized rounds of field-level meetings, trying to encourage the Cultivation Committees to hold fast, promising that legal amendments would soon be forthcoming to remedy their legal incapacity. But in fact, these amendments came too late. They were passed only after the landlords had already evicted their tenants, and only after the Cultivation Committees had been seen to have failed in their cultivation and irrigation duties, thus losing the confidence of the farmers themselves.

It is also necessary to consider the socio-political climate in the villages at that time. There was euphoria among the tenant-cultivators and agricultural workers when the Act was passed, heightened by their participation in the formation of the Cultivation Committees, which they felt would support them against arbitrary eviction and higher rents.

This enthusiasm was reflected in other aspects of cultivation too. Fertilizer consumption doubled in the first year of the formation of the Cultivation Committees, but collapsed in the year following their legal invalidation. This collapse caused great demoralization among the cultivators, since they had gained great socio-psychological support from the Committees in standing up for their rights. With their collapse, many tenants surrendered their rights, accepting their plight as “hidden tenants” with no rights under the law. There was chaos in the paddy fields too, since there was no agent/agency left to ensure that the fields were fenced or the water issued. Hence, by the time the Cultivation Committees were re-legalized by the Paddy Lands (Amendment) Acts of 1961 and 1964, the latter served only to close the stable door after the horse had bolted. The Committees never regained the vigour and vibrancy that accompanied the first flush of their formation under the Act of 1958.

Legal and Administrative Challenges: The Collapse of the Cultivation Committees

It is left only to record the legal arguments that led to the collapse of the Cultivation Committees of 1958 – which provides a lesson in itself of how legal finagling can upset progressive legislation. A Cultivation Committee was to consist of twelve (12) members (Section 29). “Of the prescribed number of elected members of the Committee: (a) not less than three-fourths shall be elected by the qualified cultivators……; and (b) not more than one-fourth shall be elected by the qualified owners….” Clearly the intention was to give greater weight in the Committees to the actual cultivators as opposed to the landlords.

In administrative terms, it was clear that there had to be two separate elections: one for the owners to elect their members, and one for the actual cultivators to elect theirs. This required that separate electoral lists be prepared for the owners and separate ones for the cultivators. Given the predictable opposition from the landlords, every name on every electoral list was liable to be challenged, while the elections themselves could be disputed in law. I had pointed this out to Mr. Phillip Gunawardene in my first and only encounter with him.

But there were even more serious problems. Since the law and relevant regulations stipulated that all Cultivation Committees shall have twelve members, the refusal by landlords to elect their representatives would render most of the Committees invalid. This again was a potential problem that I had brought to the notice of the Minister in my initial and only meeting with him – for which I was chased out by him! Faced with this situation on the ground one year later, we took the position (with the agreement of the Attorney-General) that if the landlords failed to elect their three representatives, the cultivators could elect the full twelve members of the Committee, since they (the cultivators) were entitled to elect a number “not less than three-fourths” of the Committee. The landlords then consulted Mr. H. V. Pereira, the highest legal luminary in the country. His brilliant mathematical argument in the appellate court was that since the landlords were to elect “a number “… “not more than one-fourth”, and since the qualified owners had elected nought representatives, and since nought is not a number, the Cultivation Committees were not legally constituted! On this abtruse mathematical argument, the Court decided that the Cultivation Committees were not legally constituted!

All past and future actions of such Committees were also declared null and void! This ruling encouraged the landlords to boycott the Cultivation Committee elections all over the country, thus rendering them legally invalid and their actions legally void. Thus the implementation machinery of the Act at field level was completely demolished on the basis of this legal argument! Since these Committees had by law taken over important irrigation and cultivation functions (the vel vidanes having been abolished) their invalidation led to a breakdown in the common arrangements for cultivation and irrigation, thus causing complete chaos in the field. And the Minister in charge of its implementation (Mr.C.P. de Silva) was not prepared to pass the needed amendments to plug the legal loopholes.

This placed me, as the implementer, in a professionally unenviable position. On the one hand, my duty was to implement the Act; but on the other, my own Minister who was also supposed to be implementing the Act, seemed intent on making its implementation impossible. Nor was he willing to repeal the Act, since it still had popular appeal. Two Commissioners of the Agrarian Services had been transferred out of the Department because they had agreed to sign the needed amendments to plug the loopholes in the Act. After more than two years of this unequal and unsuccessful struggle, I capitulated and sought a transfer out of the Ministry.

(The writer, a former member of the Ceylon Civil Service, later worked for a long period at the UN’s FAO in Rome).

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Features

Independence of the judiciary, democratic governance, and dismantling of the executive presidency:

Published

8 hours ago

2026/10/14

Sahan Weerasooriya

NPP manifesto promises to abolish the executive presidency

the basis for drafting a new constitution

By Savitri Goonesekere

( This is an edited version of the transcript of a talk given at a public seminar titled ‘Why should we rally for a new people’s constitution?’, held at the National Library Auditorium on 11 September 2026 and organised by the Young Lawyers’ Association. )

Today there is so much confusion: what is Constitutionalism? What is a Constitution? Why do we need a Constitution? We must recognise that, it has been civil society, including professionals in this country, who have always articulated a voice on issues of public concern. If you remember the time of COVID, we had the medical professionals articulating a voice because this was a matter of public concern. So, the Bar Association, too, has expressed views on public concerns. We have with us this evening, President’s Counsel Mr. M. A. Sumanthiran, and Mr. Geoffrey Alagaratnam, and we will have President’s Counsel Mr. Saliya Pieris, who will join us later.

They and many other leading lawyers have always led from the front. And in that regard, in the case of the legal profession, inevitably there are areas of public concern that necessarily mean that they have to call the government to account. When that happens, the Bar Association is required to question government’s action or inaction including their policies

Now, in the past, I don’t think it was as bad as today, because today we have such adversarial, confrontational politics that if by any chance—and an unlucky chance—the Opposition’s stand on a matter happens to coincide with that of professionals, then there’s a delegitimisation of the professionals. That is wrong because professionals must have the courage to speak for their profession, even when they question the government. Constitutionalism and Constitution-making, to be functional, must have bipartisan consensus. When that is not there, even professionals who articulate a voice are seen as either anti-government, against government, or worse, lackeys of the government.

I think citizens should be aware of these realities, and therefore reflect on what it means to have a Constitution. What is a Constitution? A Constitution is, after all, the basic law of a country which will regulate the governance system. And to regulate a governance system, you have to have a framework for governance. The framework for governance also then will have to have institutions of governance. That would be what you call the system of governance. Now, those institutions of governance also have to be embedded and linked with some values, and a values framework.

In the 20th and 21st centuries, we have basically two forms or frameworks of governance. One is Democracy. The other is what we call centralised power with perhaps a single leader. That kind of governance does not focus in the way that Democracy does on the Sovereignty of the people, the rights and liberties of citizens of the country. Therefore, we need to understand in Constitution-making where we stand. Is it going to be for Democracy or is it going to be for another form of government? And I say this because today we’re constantly talking of the Democratic deficit, the failures of Democracy. Contrasted with that are countries which have strong leadership, single leadership, supposed to propel our counties into economic growth and a wonderful future.

In that context, therefore, we need to ask ourselves: what is the value in Democracy? Now Democracy, we must understand, was born of an evolutionary framework developed from a time when there was single leadership by a king, a monarch. Democracy didn’t come overnight. It had to dismantle monarchy and single leadership, and that’s what it did. Historically we know that basic ideas on Democracy as a form of governance can be traced to the Greek civilisation and time of what we call the Western Enlightenment. It was the Western Enlightenment that brought together these ideas of the Sovereignty of the People, a social contract between government and the People who are governed, and the central importance of the People of a country. That is Democracy. That did not come overnight. It took centuries. It took ideologies. It took thought. It required struggle born also of blood and tears.

Today we dismiss Democracy and this history and say, “Oh, it is elitist liberalism.” But we must not forget that Democracy was born as an evolution from monarchy and single leadership, replacing this with the concept of government that respected the rights of the Sovereign people. The central importance of the Sovereign Peoples rights to be protected from abuse of state power is the foundation of democracy as a form of governance. The European countries and the UK engaged with that system of governance.

By 1948, when the UN Charter and the International instruments were drafted, there were two different approaches to governance. One was the Western tradition born of their experience evolving from monarchy to People’s rights and People’s sovereignty that focused on civil liberties: freedom from torture, freedom of speech, freedom of expression, freedom to protest—those are civil liberties. But the weakness was that there was no recognition of social and economic rights as the rights of the people: that was absent in that tradition.

On the other hand, there were member states from the Communist countries, which had the centralized, authoritarian system of governance. They did not recognise civil liberties, but focused on meeting all their people’s social and economic needs as rights: health, education, shelter.

In 1948, we must remember that there were therefore two major international treaties or covenants: one, a Covenant on Civil and Political rights, and another one on Economic and Social rights. That was the Cold War period. But then subsequently through the years, there were changes. In the 1990s, there was the flowering of the human rights tradition. Member states of the UN came together at the Vienna World Conference in 1993, which then recognized that ALL these rights should be human rights of peoples across the globe

So, the Western liberal civil liberties tradition, linked with that of the countries of the Global South like Malaysia, China, and Russia—which recognized and gave importance to social and economic rights. And then a consensus developed that ALL these rights are important; they are “indivisible.” We witnessed this in the 1990s, and the early years of this millennium in the development of many international Conventions which declared human rights on the basis of both civil liberties and social and economic rights.

One would have thought that we would achieve a global consensus on the broadening of the meaning of democracy and a movement away from this concept of strong leadership without civil liberties. But we have not had that. In place of that, we have had a decline in multilateralism in the UN system, giving way to bilateralism, once again back to this focus on two systems: Democracy or strong single leadership.

In this global context, let us compare the situation in countries like ours, which experienced decolonization: countries which knew the impact of colonialism. What happened in those countries? These civil liberties, the legacy of the colonial powers, were used in freedom struggles. They were used to dismantle colonialism. That is why the idea that this liberal tradition of civil rights is a colonial white man’s sudda-law should be challenged. Because this is not so. These countries of South Asia and Africa internalised the values of Democracy, the systems of governance known as Democracy, and built for their nations Constitutions which recognized the importance of civil liberties and control of state power And you see this in India, you see this in Nepal, you see this in Sri Lanka: we had the same concepts of the importance of civil liberties in Constitutionalism. But we focussed on civil liberties. Social and economic rights in the Vienna Convention were considered only as social policies, following the Western tradition on people’s rights.

And what is the meaning of Constitutionalism? The Sovereign people have given their consent to the rulers to rule subject to protection of THEIR rights. And that means that Constitutionalism must prevent the abuse of State and Government power. . Today sometimes we talk of authoritarian Constitutionalism, we talk of abusive Constitutionalism. That’s a contradiction. If Constitutionalism is to prevent abuse of state, government power, you can’t have authoritarian constitutionalism or abusive constitutionalism. What you can say is you can abuse of constitution making process to embed an authoritarian system of governance.

So, we must now, therefore, recognise that even today, if we say there’s a Democratic deficit, this system of governance has been used in our countries to give a better quality of life to our people. There have been failures; there are dysfunctional areas, but that does not mean you have to reject something which has been a powerful force for recognising the importance of the citizens of a country.

I think today when we are challenged with all this talk on the deficit of democracy, the importance of single leadership and authoritarian governance to deliver development, we must stay the course and say: “No, for Sri Lanka, from 1948 we have had Democratic governance.” Governments have not delivered in many areas—true—so the challenge is to focus on Constitutionalism in a new Constitution. Priority must be given to help the government to deliver on the gaps that we have, and ensure the well-being of our people. Constitutionalism must be the basis for drafting a new constitution.

I think we have to also challenge this often-repeated statement that we have a “78-year curse” in governance. We have had deficiencies, but we have had Democratic governance. Central to that has been regular elections and the resilience of the People. Also, the contribution of the courts of this country, the lawyers of this country in ensuring that there has been some accountability in governance.

Some of you may not remember, but I have lived through dark times. I have witnessed the horror of the murder of a dear student, a politician whose head was cut off by the JVP—the Deshapremi at that time—and stuck on his gate. He had young children. I have gone with my husband in dark curfew streets to help clear a body for burial, where the first person who opened the poll, a relative, was killed at the General Election the JVP prohibited.

So, we in this country have lived through dark times. But we also have moved from that dark past to a point where those involved in an armed struggle the JVP entered into the democratic political process. They did so in 1994. Having come into that political process, the Democratic process, it is a commitment made to the people. We must hold this government with its JVP partner to deliver on Democracy, and not any other system of governance.

Let us look at our history of Constitutionalism and Constitution making. What is our history? 1948: we had the parliamentary system. We had, particularly in relation to the minorities, decisions of the appeal courts which have been criticised, which did not take into account minority rights. So, there were deficiencies. But we had a written constitution, we had courts, we had public administration and law enforcement systems that functioned. That was the dividend of post-independence freedom and political autonomy in Sri Lanka.

Then in 1972: with a massive mandate, we had a government which again brought in the 1972 “autochthonous” or home grown constitution. But what did it do? In fact, it interpreted the Sovereignty of the People as the Sovereignty of Parliament and parliamentarians. And that made Democracy dysfunctional. There is a recorded history of the abuse of power that took place at the time, including the conflict with the courts.

Now change was promised in 1978 Constitution. The people gave a massive mandate for a Dharmishta anduwa. And then what happened ? Again, we put in place all the democratic institutions as we know them, the system of democracy familiar in the liberal tradition. But a huge gap was the aggrandizement of power in the strong Executive Presidency, which has led to decades of problems in the governance of this country.

The Executive Presidency of 1978 has destabilised what were good public institutions. It has contributed to an ethos where, in institutions, the person who is considered the boss is supposed to lead, and everybody else does not question him/her. That happens in the public sector today in many institutions, and I’m told (and it looks like it does) that sometimes this also happens in the private sector. So, we have developed what you call a boss-man culture which seeps down to society, not just public institutions and governance. The Executive Presidency, therefore, has contributed to the weakening of many public institutions and also, to a large extent, a culture of corruption, and abuse of power.

This decline has been understood, and because it has been understood, since the year 2000 we have been asking for a new Constitution that will eliminate the Executive Presidency. Successive political leaders including the current President and their political parties have pledged in election manifestos to do this. At least the Chandrika Bandaranaike government fulfilled that promise and brought such a constitution in 2000 to abolish the Executive Presidency and strengthen the democratic institutions to achieve accountable governance to the People. Unfortunately, a subsequent and recent executive President and his party tore that Constitution to shreds in Parliament. That was 2000.

(To be continued)

Features

Coercive laws recipe for future misrule

Published

1 day ago

2026/10/13

Sahan Weerasooriya

by Jehan Perera

The NPP government is going after powerful figures from the past and present who have engaged in corruption, fraud and criminal activity in a way that no previous government in Sri Lanka has done. Former ministers, politicians and senior state officials are among those facing investigations and legal proceedings. The government has placed before Parliament a document listing 50 cases involving corruption, fraud and other crimes. These include not only financial offences but also cases relating to the Easter Sunday attacks, the killings of Lasantha Wickrematunge and Wasim Thajudeen, the disappearance of Prageeth Ekneligoda and attacks on journalists Keith Noyahr and Upali Tennakoon.

The significance of this effort is that it can demonstrate that nobody is above the law, regardless of political connections or social standing, which will help restore public confidence in institutions that have long been distrusted. It could also recover public resources, improve the investment climate and strengthen the foundations for a more prosperous and just Sri Lanka. When criticised for focusing on the past and not the present, the government position is that these investigations were initiated under earlier governments, particularly between 2015 and 2019, and that it is now allowing investigators to proceed to deal with the backlog without political interference.

But there is an aspect of the government’s approach that is less justifiable. While pursuing past wrongdoing by powerful individuals, it is also advancing a triumvirate of draft laws that could give the state sweeping powers over citizens, organisations and dissent in the present and future. The draft Prevention of Terrorism legislation, the Prevention of Organised Crimes Bill and the NGO Registration and Supervision Bill raise serious questions about the over-centralisation of power. Each of these laws strengthens the powers of the state while weakening the rights and safeguards that protect people from their misuse and thus questions the basic rights of people in democracy where ‘the power of the people is vested in the government’. This is a recipe for future misrule rather than the rule of law. As the well-known saying goes, power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Proposed Laws

The real test of system change, for which the government obtained an overwhelming mandate, requires not only a government willing to hold others accountable, but one prepared to subject itself to the same principles of legality, transparency and restraint. The three proposed laws that are particularly important in this regard are the Protection of the State from Terrorism Bill, the Prevention of Organised Crimes Bill and the NGO Registration and Supervision Bill. Each of these draft laws has been presented as serving a legitimate purpose. Preventing terrorism, combating organised crime and ensuring that NGOs do not facilitate money laundering or terrorist financing are proper responsibilities of the state. Sri Lanka has international obligations in these areas, and no responsible government can disregard them. However, the existence of a legitimate objective does not justify every means adopted to achieve it.

The proposed Protection of the State from Terrorism Bill illustrates the problem. Although its definition of terrorism draws on a model developed by a former United Nations Special Rapporteur, the Human Rights Commission of Sri Lanka has warned that the definition of terrorism extends beyond the model and could bring legitimate political protest, trade union action and civil disobedience within the scope of counter-terrorism legislation. Its concerns also include prolonged detention, inadequate judicial oversight and restrictions on access to legal counsel. These are objections that go to the heart of the relationship between the citizen and the state. The government cannot credibly promise to protect democratic freedoms while creating powers that could be used to restrict them. It is necessary for the government to reassess the draft through transparent consultation and revise provisions that could criminalise legitimate dissent.

The Prevention of Organised Crimes Bill raises similar concerns. It is presented as giving effect to the United Nations Convention against Transnational Organised Crime, which Sri Lanka ratified in 2006. The Centre for Policy Alternatives (CPA) has argued that the convention does not require many of the bill’s provisions. The proposed law extends to a broad range of offences, permits detention orders lasting up to a year, makes confessions to police admissible for purposes of legal evidence, and introduces extensive surveillance powers. A law intended to dismantle criminal networks should not create a parallel system of exceptional powers that could be applied far beyond organised crime. Nor should safeguards developed through years of experience with abuses under the Prevention of Terrorism Act be weakened through legislation bearing a different name. The government should review whether or not existing laws could be used effectively to control these crimes or whether each exceptional power is necessary.

Civil Society

The proposed NGO Registration and Supervision Bill presents another test of the government’s intentions. The government may reasonably seek transparency in the finances of organisations receiving public or foreign funds, including measures to prevent money laundering and terrorist financing. It seeks to justify its overreach on the grounds of meeting the internationally mandated requirements of the Financial Action Task Force (FATF) for the Asia-Pacific region. But these objectives do not justify placing civil society and NGOs under excessive administrative control when even the FATF ranks them as low to medium risks. The draft bill would require registration and renewal, impose extensive obligations on organisations and empower authorities to suspend or deregister them on broadly framed grounds. It is important to redraft provisions that confer excessive discretion over registration, renewal, suspension and deregistration of NGOs.

Among the concerns raised by United Nations human rights special rapporteurs with regard to the draft NGO law are provisions requiring organisations to align with government policies and restrictions that could affect advocacy, dissent and freedom of association. The implications extend well beyond organisations that engage directly with the government. Community groups, human rights organisations, independent researchers and organisations working on reconciliation or accountability could find their activities constrained by uncertainty over how these provisions might be interpreted. Organisations that criticise government policies are not thereby working against the country. Their freedom to do so is part of what distinguishes a democracy from a system in which the government determines which opinions and activities are acceptable.

The government has generated considerable public goodwill through its pursuit of corruption and criminality. It should not assume that this goodwill gives it an unlimited mandate to strengthen the coercive powers of the state. The NPP knows from its own history that governments can treat dissent as a threat and use the machinery of the state against their opponents. There is still time to correct the drafts through transparent public consultation, narrow definitions of offences, meaningful judicial control over detention and surveillance, and effective remedies against arbitrary decisions. A government that pursues corruption while weakening safeguards against state abuse risks undermining its own achievements. Besides bringing to light the abuse of power by previous governments, the NPP government needs to build a system in which no future government can abuse power in the belief they can get away with it.

Features

Quality assurance without quality enhancement: The irony of university QA

Published

1 day ago

2026/10/13

Sahan Weerasooriya

By Ramya Kumar

According to the Quality Assurance Council (QAC) of the University Grants Commission (UGC), quality assurance (QA) refers to “the means (i.e. the policies, attitudes, actions, procedures, etc.), by which an institution can guarantee with confidence and certainty, that the standards and quality of its educational provision are being maintained and enhanced”.

An expansive structure has been in place since 2005 to govern and implement QA processes within the state university system. The QAC is the focal point at the UGC that implements external reviews of state universities and institutes. Each university has its own Centre for Quality Assurance (CQA) tasked with performing QA in line with QAC directives. Faculties, in turn, have Internal Quality Assurance Cells (IQAC) performing their own QA; they are answerable to the CQA.

The big question is whether this all-encompassing top-down QA system, that in many ways undermines the internal dynamics of university governance, actually supports universities to enhance the quality of education. This article highlights some concerns.

Top-down check-box activities

The QAC conducts external reviews of universities and degree programmes. A review team appointed by the UGC (who may or may not have experience in the institution/programme in question) examines the self-evaluation report submitted by the said institution/programme. The team then conducts a site visit to verify the claims made in the university’s self-evaluation report, clarify issues identified during the desk review, and examine how QA procedures operate in practice. The team holds meetings with the university administration, members of the Council and Senate, Deans, Heads of Departments, academic and non-academic staff, students, and others. Following the visit, a draft report is submitted to the relevant institution/programme for comment before final publication. The reviewed institution/programme then prepares and publishes an action plan addressing the recommendations, with subsequent monitoring of progress.

There are some worthy QA initiatives under implementation, such as improving facilities for students with disabilities and strengthening mechanisms to address sexual- and gender-based violence. However, for the most part, QA activities have little to do with improving the quality of education. They are mostly preoccupied with monitoring faculty and department websites, digital transformation, student feedback, subject evaluation, course evaluation, peer evaluation, and, more recently, staff appraisal. These activities, which consume an inordinate amount of time—so precious at understaffed universities—have become check-box activities completed to generate evidence for the next review. Below is an excerpt of a conversation between two academics (1 and 2) that conveys how QA plays out at universities (reproduced with permission).

1: … .it’s like social media you know, like posting things on Facebook or twitter or Instagram. When people do a lot of social media, everything they do, they do thinking, “okay I’m going to post it in this way… this I have to put on my Instagram.” QA is a little like that… everything is considered in light of, “ah we can use this for the review, as evidence… for example very recently we were encouraged to have all the things that we do in our department in the faculty newsletter so then they can put in the review. Every little thing has to be noted down….

2: And with pictures and all…

1: At the very least it has to be written so that you have written evidence .. you can’t be doing something for the sake of doing something or because it is good for the department … and sometimes people tell me “oh yea that’s a good idea we can fit that under this x, y section of the review..”

2: Yea, and nobody really thinks about the actual outcome… whether it’s actually helping anyone..

1: I also find that a lot of the words that we used in different ways have now been co-opted to the QA discourse ..including quality.. I can’t actually say what I want as an “outcome”, for example, that the outcome of this workshop is that my students “think about” … then I am told “ah but no that’s not one of the Bloom’s taxonomy words, “think about”.…

2: And the worst part is these medical and agriculture people, these types of people go around spreading it like some kind of gospel!

1: Yea, this cookie cutter way of doing things, they think is the height of innovativeness or creativity, when actually it is so mundane … for me the most awful thing about it is like some fungus of mundanity has taken over through QA reviews.

2: yea, when you say QA, my mind closes off immediately and I stop listening…

Auditing everything but power

QA leaves out crucial aspects of university governance. For instance, there is no review or assessment of the “quality” of university administrations under Criterion 1 or the integrity of procedures governing the promotion of academic staff under Criterion 6 of the institutional reviews.

The majority in the Council—the university’s executive and governing body, which is responsible for selecting the Vice-Chancellor (VC)—are appointed in ad hoc fashion. Apart from the Ex-Officio members in the Council (VC, Deans, etc.), and the two members elected by the Senate, the remainder are appointed by the UGC with no formal consultation or vetting procedure. The VC appointment process described in UGC Circular No. 03/2023 exemplifies how an ostensibly technical process can become entangled in political sycophancy. The Registrar invites applications for the position of VC through advertisement. Applicants must submit a curriculum vitae, a statement of vision for the university and supporting documents. The University Council appoints a three-member Search Committee of senior academics to encourage “eminent persons” to apply, while the UGC appoints a former VC from another university to “observe” the selection process.

A Special Meeting of the University Council is convened. Candidates are interviewed and must make a presentation to the Council Members, followed by questions. Each Council member “gives marks” for seven prescribed criteria: strategic focus (20%), effective leadership (20%), holistic thinking/conceptual skills (10%), academic and research excellence (15%), personal integrity (10%), professional communication (10%) and managerial competence (15%). Marks are averaged, and the Council recommends three candidates to the UGC in rank order. The UGC-appointed observer separately submits a confidential report on the selection process.

This procedure is expected to guarantee quality, but does it? Applications are submitted to the Council Members, who have been appointed on questionable bases, and who are expected to review the applications and give scores, based on objective assessments. But, in reality, most Council Members are manipulated by VC candidates, who often have personal ties with them. The UGC-appointed observer usually has no genuine interest in the outcome. And there is no way for anyone to actually question the Council’s decision once it is made. Although the highest-ranked candidate may ultimately be appointed, the selection remains a political decision made by the President, who retains the discretion to appoint any one of the three.

External reviews also do not look into the promotions of academic staff, except to scrutinise whether there are policies and procedures in place to govern promotion. Academic staff may apply for promotion to Professor once they satisfy the prescribed eligibility requirements, which typically include the period of service, academic qualifications, research and publication achievements, teaching experience, and contributions to the university and wider community. Applications are evaluated against specified criteria, with research output and academic contributions assessed through documentary evidence and expert evaluation. Under the UGC’s scheme for Professors, two experts from outside the applicant’s institution assess specified aspects of research and knowledge dissemination. Again, beneath this technical process, which is externally evaluated, lies a problematic points-based scheme that can be manipulated and abused with impunity.

Rethinking university QA

Like the VC election process and the schemes of promotion for academic staff, QA reviews are open to manipulation. Before a review, there is a chaotic rush to complete evidence gathering and reporting. Academics leave all other work aside, including at times their teaching, to focus on completing documentation and preparing reports. The standardised criteria in the review manuals and scoring sheets often do not reflect differences in disciplines and institutional contexts. But this does not really matter because any serious problems experienced by institutions or programmes are hastily brushed under the carpet to conceal any evidence that could taint the review. The goal is to obtain an A or at least a B grade at whatever cost.

QA may result in positive change if it moves beyond top-down check-box activities towards internally designed and owned processes encompassing all aspects of university governance, led by departments and faculties, and supported by adequate resources. The current QA system needs to be dismantled and replaced by procedures that are accountable, not to the UGC, but to our students and the communities we serve.

(Ramya Kumar is attached to the Department of Community and Family Medicine, Faculty of Medicine, University of Jaffna)

. Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies.