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‘Ingreesi Mahattaya’ – Two years a village schoolmaster

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By GEORGE BRAINE

Getting on the bus in Badulla town, I asked the driver if he could let me off at the Kendegolla Maha Vidyalaya. He gave me an odd look, but said “Naginna” (get in). The small bus went along the Passara Road, turned left, and began to climb a narrow road, winding past village houses and patches of tea. After half an hour, the driver stopped and pointed to a small white speck on the highest hill, miles from the road. “That’s the school”, he said. My heart sank.

What was I, barely out of my teens, doing in remote Uva hills, hundreds of miles from home? At Maharagama training college, I had met Fawzia, and we had fallen in love. She was from a traditional Malay family, and we did our best to keep the relationship a secret from her folks. When we finished our training, as English teachers, at the end of 1971, in order to be far away from our families, we asked for schools in Uva for our first appointments. Fawzia was sent to a school near Bandarawela and I got Kendegolla.

Getting off the bus, I began to trudge towards the white speck, passing a rustic kopi kade and ramshackle village houses. Idling men hung around, gawking at this strange apparition, me. The white speck disappeared as the footpath dipped or rounded a bend, and I had to ask for directions a couple of times. The walls of the houses were mud coloured, and certainly not the wattle and daub, or baked bricks, of the low country. I later learned that the walls were made of moda gadol (foolish bricks), so called because they were simply dried in the sun, not baked, and could dissolve during rainy weather. Some roofs were of rusty corrugated iron, but most were of straw.

Tired and somewhat disoriented, I reached the school a good 30-minutes later. This was January, the air was cool and damp, and a low cloud hung over the school. Students were milling around, because it was interval time. They had spotted me trudging up, word had spread, and a few teachers were also peering down at me.

Followed by a throng of students, I reached the principal’s office, where a short, balding, older man, and a taller one dressed in “national” costume, greeted me. When I introduced myself as the new English teacher, the tall man blurted “Me lamayinte mona ingreesida” (What English for these children!). But the other person was welcoming, saying he had been requesting an English teacher for years. He turned out to be the principal. (I’ll call him Mr. Senaratne).

After the preliminaries, I needed a place to stay and Mr. Senaratne suggested that Gunaratne, who taught economics, could help me. So I went along with the latter to check-out his boarding. We forded a rocky, shallow stream near the school, and walked single-file along a fast-flowing irrigation channel that skirted the hillside on our left, with terraced paddy fields on the right. I liked the well-built, tiled house where Gunaratne boarded, and the simple family that greeted me. I could share a room with Gunaratne, whose cheerful nature – full of chatter and jokes – I took a liking to.

Teachers and Students

The few hundred students ranged from Grade 1 to 12, divided into the primary and secondary sections. The younger students came from the vicinity, but some students in the secondary section attended school from the surrounding villages, Kendegolla being the only maha vidyalaya for a sprawling, mountainous area. I came to know students who walked four miles each way, on rough, winding, mountainous paths, to attend school, some leaving home, before dawn, without breakfast. None wore shoes. Every day, a couple of students, weak from hunger, would faint during school.

Recently, I dug into my old files and found a programme for Kendegolla’s first sports meet, which I organized in 1972. That programme listed the names of all the teachers of that time. The primary school teachers – Rajapakse, Gunatilleke, Piyadasa, Piyasena, Dissanayake, Seneviratne, Dingiriamma, Senadheera, Premalatha, Margaret, Piyadasa Peiris (some were husband and wife couples) – were from the village itself. Hayath Bee Bee was from some distance away, on the Passara Road, and walked uphill about two miles to school. All the secondary school teachers, except one, were from other areas. Most were recent graduates, and some travelled by bus, from Badulla or beyond. In addition to Gunaratne, my roommate, they were Mendis and his wife Malini, Piyadasa, Piyasoma, and Karunaratne. Later, three more graduates joined the school. Two, Nawalage and Jayasinghe, were ex-monks. Nawalage, who was from far-off Nivithigala, had requested a transfer to a far off area just before he left robes, to avoid embarrassment to his family. From their general demeanor, even the way they walked and talked, one could discern a former ascetic life. Behind their backs, they did not escape the somewhat derogatory heeraluwa label.

Susil was the school drunk. Boyish in appearance, but permanently disheveled, he turned up late to school, looking as if he had slept in a gutter. Sometimes he wore shirt and slacks, a soiled national dress at other times. The principal advised him often, but Susil, on a permanent hangover, only grinned sheepishly, not uttering a word.

One clear difference between the local and other teachers was their dress. All the local men wore the so called national dress, a long white shirt and sarong. Teachers from elsewhere, except for Mendis, wore shirts and pants.

For a rural school in a “difficult” area, without proper roads or basic facilities, to have that many graduate teachers was a rare gift. These graduates were mainly young, dedicated teachers, and they soon produced results, sending a couple of students to university. I remember the students’ names: Premawathie and Podi Appuhamy, who both entered Kelaniya University.

Ironically, despite the qualified and competent teachers at Kendegolla, the local teachers sent their children to schools in Badulla town. These children, wearing neat school uniforms, were in sharp contrast to our scrawny, shabbily dressed students.

During my times, the school consisted of four long, single storied, bare-bones buildings, each housing four or five classes. The classes were not separated, even by a wall. The roofs were tile, and the sides were open, with half-walls running, lengthwise, on each side. Dust blew in, covering the floor and the students’ desks and chairs. No pipe borne water or electricity, of course. A luxuriant bougainvillea bush, near the principal’s office, added the only colour to the school.

Kendegolla was at a high elevation. Once in a while, the entire school would be covered by a passing cloud, darkening the area and lowering the temperature. Students, shivering in the cold, stepped out of the classroom, looking for any patches of sunshine they could find. Teaching was suspended, sometimes for hours, till the cloud drifted away.

Being the only Ingreesi mahattaya, I taught English, from grades 6 to 10, every day, and an occasional lesson for the handful of students in grades 11 and 12. The government distributed free textbooks to all the students, but most had only one “exercise” (writing) book for all their subjects. Each class had 30+ students, and motivating them was the main problem. Without visual or other teaching aids, I relied mainly on reading and recitation, using the good old “chalk and talk” method. I don’t think those students learned much English from me.

Life in the village

School finished at 1.30 in the afternoon, and Gunaratne and I walked along the irrigation channel back to our boarding. Basins of water, with soap, had been laid out for us, and we later sat down for lunch. The local Sinhala haal rice, a couple of vegetables, and dhal. Fish or meat was never served, but we occasionally had an egg, and fried karawala, salted and dried fish. This was a devout Buddhist home. The simple meals were to my liking, although I missed curries cooked with coconut. At Kendegolla, due to the high elevation, not a coconut palm was in sight, and coconuts were a luxury, only available in Badulla town.

The family – husband, wife, two sons and two daughters – had their evening meal after Gunaratne and I had finished, and we usually chatted with the father while he chewed beetle. The two sons sat with us, but were respectful of the father, and barely uttered an opinion. Later, in our room, we listened to the radio, the Sinhala service of Radio Ceylon. During the previous year, 1971, the first JVP insurrection had occurred, and a public inquiry was broadcast on the radio. My former civics teacher in secondary school, Mr. Shanmugam, had joined the police and become an SP. I distinctly remember him being cross examined at the inquiry. Before 9pm, we turned off the kerosene lamp and went to sleep.

Our landlord was comparatively well off, being a carpenter. He also owned a small plot of paddy. The village was surrounded by a large tea plantation, Telbedde Estate, but all the workers there were Tamils residing on the estate. Most villagers scratched a living from subsistence farming, or a little patch of sweet potatoes, a grove of manioc, and various vegetables. A staple food was kollu (horse gram), especially among those who did not own paddy fields. One had to be very poor to be eating it, because kollu was usually fed to horses, and I am now reminded of how Samuel Johnson defined oats: “A grain, which in England is generally given to horses, but in Scotland supports the people.”

Once, in response to a survey that the Education Department conducted, a large number of families, in the area, indicated an income of Rs. 100/ – not monthly, but annually. That is, about Rs. 10/ per month. In today’s terms, that would be less than Rs. 1000/ for a family, for an entire month. How people managed to feed themselves, leaving cash for clothes and other essentials aside, was a mystery. The “plight of the Kandyan peasantry” is no cliché.

Except for the teachers, no student or villager may have seen the sea, or Colombo, or even Kandy. None may have tasted sea food. The height of sophistication was Badulla town, which glittered at night with electric lights. The town even had water on tap! The cinemas, with a galaxy of popular Sinhala, Tamil, and Hindi films, drew estate workers and villagers from all around.

The village had a small temple, at the bottom of a hill, surrounded by paddy fields. The easy going young monk formed a friendship with me. He was curious about Christianity, and I explained as best as I could, avoiding tricky topics such as the Holy Trinity. On poya days, all the students and the teachers, dressed in white, observed sil at the temple, sitting on the ground of the spotlessly clean premises, in the shade of a bo tree and a small stupa. I recall the peaceful ambience, and the monk’s simple and appealing sermons.

A few afternoons a week, Gunaratne and I collected our soiled clothes in a bundle, and, a towel draped around our necks, walked to the stream to wash our clothes and to bathe. Usually, a few older male students joined us. We first walked downstream and washed our clothes, soaping and pounding them on the rocks. Then, we clambered upstream, sat in a rocky pool, and bathed leisurely, listening to Gunaratne’s endless jokes, always ending with “Hinawela marenewa” (die laughing).

On some evenings, when we were bored, he and I strolled to the edge of a hill, from where we could gaze at Badulla town, down in the valley to our right, and the majestic Namunukula mountain range across the valley to our left. Sometimes, a couple of students came along. As twilight descended, we could see the electric lights twinkling in Badulla. We talked aimlessly, sharing the news and gossip, but were wistful, longing for what we did not have at Kandegolla.

(To be continued)



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Opinion

Financing Sri Lanka’s post-IMF development

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by By Kasun Kariyawasam
and Shiran Illanperuma

In March 2027, Sri Lanka’s Extended Fund Facility with the International Monetary Fund (IMF) will expire. It is the seventeenth arrangement the country has entered into with the Fund since 1965. That number is not a footnote; it is the argument. Sixteen previous left the underlying structure of the economy intact – an economy that imports what it consumes, exports what it cannot process further, and borrows to cover the difference. Each programme ended, and the conditions that produced it reassembled themselves.

The seventeenth has been the most invasive. Approved on 20 March 2023, in the aftermath of the sovereign default and the uprising that followed, it arrived at a moment of maximum leverage for the creditor and minimum room for the debtor. Fiscal consolidation was achieved primarily through indirect taxation, so that the burden fell heaviest on the poor. Energy subsidies were withdrawn and utility pricing made cost-reflective, transmitting global price movements directly into household budgets and industrial input costs. Public investment was compressed, and public sector wages held below inflation for years.

The revenue target was met but the social consequences are now well documented.

First, poverty in Sri Lanka roughly doubled after 2022 and has remained near a quarter of the population – a level not seen for two decades. Malnutrition among children, school dropout, and the depletion of household savings and assets are the transmission channels through which a fiscal adjustment becomes a lost generation.

Second, the most mobile and most skilled workers – nurses, doctors, engineers, IT workers – have left in numbers that constitute a structural loss of productive capacity, subsidised by the Sri Lankan state and captured by the labour markets of the Gulf, East Asia, and the West.

Third, and the least discussed, is the loss of economic sovereignty. The Central Bank Act of 2023 grants the Central Bank of Sri Lanka operational independence under a narrow inflation-targeting mandate and prohibits the monetary financing of government deficits, removing an instrument of development finance that every industrialised economy used on its way up. The Economic Transformation Act of 2024 legislates the programme’s own quantitative targets as binding statutory obligations on all future governments.

Although the IMF programme ends in March 2027, the framework it installed does not. Austerity has been converted into a legal architecture. Any government that wishes to finance development after 2027 will find that the fiscal space to do so has been pre-emptively legislated away, and that the debt service profile steps up sharply from 2028 as the restructured bonds begin to amortise in earnest.

The instruments on the table

Three instruments are currently under discussion for managing the debt portfolio. Each is worth examining on its merits, and each shares a common limitation.

Macro-linked bonds.

The upside triggers are more likely to be hit than the underlying real economy warrants, because the reference variable is dollar GDP. A nominal appreciation of the rupee lifts dollar GDP without a single additional unit of output being produced. The control variable intended to guard against precisely this – a requirement of 11.5% cumulative real growth – is a low bar following two consecutive years of contraction, when the base effect alone does much of the work. The country may find itself paying creditors a growth premium for an exchange rate movement.

Climate swaps.

Debt-for-nature and debt for-climate arrangements can retire a portion of the stock and may unlock multilateral climate grants, which are concessional. But they do not address the productive structure that generates the deficit in the first place, and their conditionalities – conservation commitments over land, forest, and coastal zones – can cut directly against the industrial and energy build-out that any serious development strategy requires. A country cannot finance debt relief by constraining its own industrialisation.

Bond buybacks. Retiring restructured bonds converts a contingent, complex portfolio into a plainer one, which makes debt management tractable. If the bonds trade below face or recovery value, Sri Lanka retires debt at a discount. Lazard reportedly advised this course for Zambia, so the playbook exists. However, Sri Lankan bonds have performed strongly since the restructuring, which means the discount that would make a buyback attractive has largely disappeared. A buyback becomes cheap only if sentiment softens again, or if specific contingent tranches are marked down on fear of the upside triggers. Moreover, a sovereign buying back its own debt shortly after a restructuring invites the interpretation that it anticipates difficulty, which raises the cost of future issuance. Selective buybacks are worth pursuing, given the uncertain external environment and the value of a cleaner portfolio, but that they are a marginal improvement rather than a solution.

All three instruments manage the existing stock of debt. None of them generates new finance for development. They are exercises in liability management, and a country cannot manage its way out of underdevelopment. Sri Lanka needs relief and it needs capital, and the current conversation addresses only the first.

Building the domestic architecture

New financing without new institutions reproduces the crisis. Before Sri Lanka seeks capital abroad, it must rebuild the machinery that governs how it borrows.

The primary dealer system requires reconstruction on a proper legal footing. Before the crisis, the primary dealer network degenerated into a captive placement channel: when the central bank could no longer absorb unsold stock, dealers took paper on terms set by proximity rather than price. This is allocation by moral suasion, and it produced a domestic debt market that told the government nothing useful about the cost of its own borrowing. Rebuilding it with binding contractual obligations, genuine capital requirements, and published performance rankings – as China does for its own dealer network – would restore price discovery. A government that cannot read a true yield curve cannot manage a debt portfolio.

Sri Lanka also needs a published Medium-Term Debt Management Strategy (MTDS) with explicit targets for the composition of the portfolio: external against domestic, concessional against commercial, and fixed against floating rate. Borrowing at present is reactive, driven by immediate financing needs rather than by a strategic view of currency, rollover, and interest rate risk. An MTDS makes those trade-offs visible and accountable. It is unglamorous and it is prerequisite.

The China angle

Sri Lanka’s most underused financial asset is its existing relationship with China’s monetary and capital market infrastructure. A currency swap line of 10 billion RMB is already in place, renewed in 2025, and it functions almost entirely as a passive reserve backstop. It could be the foundation of a financing strategy.

Broaden the use of RMB for trade settlement.

The swap is presently constrained in its permitted uses. Extending it to cover bilateral trade invoicing and settlement would reduce the dollar dependency that is the primary transmission channel for external volatility into the Sri Lankan economy. Every import invoiced in dollars is a claim on reserves that fluctuates with US monetary policy, over which Sri Lanka has no influence whatsoever.

Request eligibility for the FIMA RMB repo facility.

China’s facility, announced in June 2026, provides eligible central banks with access to RMB liquidity against holdings of Chinese government bonds. For Sri Lanka this would mean an RMB reserve buffer that is genuinely liquid rather than notional, and a second source of emergency liquidity that does not require a Fund programme as its precondition.

Issue panda bonds in the onshore Chinese market.

Sri Lanka has already begun refinancing dollar-denominated loans from Chinese banks into RMB, which establishes the precedent and the relationships. Issuance in the Shanghai interbank market would lock in RMB funding at rates below what the Eurobond market will offer a recently defaulted sovereign, and it diversifies the creditor base away from the Paris Club and Western commercial holders whose collective action in 2022 and 2023 was itself a lesson in concentration risk.

Access the offshore dim sum market in Hong Kong.

The offshore CNH market is deep – new issuance reached $157.2 billion in 2025 – and is a plausible source of medium-term infrastructure financing on terms that do not carry policy conditionality.

Integrate with CIPS.

None of the above scales without payments infrastructure. Integration with China’s Cross-Border Interbank Payment System reduces exposure to dollar-clearing volatility, carries lower transaction costs than routing through SWIFT correspondent banking, and is what allows the swap facilities to be used at volume rather than symbolically.

Establish direct LKR–RMB settlement.

Building on the Indonesia–HKMA–PBoC framework of June 2026, a direct settlement mechanism for bilateral trade would give Sri Lanka a working channel into one of the largest markets in the world, and create a pipeline for foreign direct investment and other inflows that does not transit the dollar system at all.

Multipolarity as infrastructure

What Sri Lanka should build is a blueprint for a local currency settlement corridor that can be scaled to any partner. Begin with China, where the infrastructure already exists, and extend it to India, the country’s nearest neighbour and one of its largest trading partners, where rupee settlement arrangements are already operating with other states. The same institutional template – bilateral swap, direct settlement mechanism, payments system linkage, local currency invoicing – applies to any counterparty with which Sri Lanka has meaningful two-way trade.

The immediate prize is energy. A large share of Sri Lankan inflation originates in oil, transmitted through both the world price and the exchange rate at which it is paid. That volatility does not merely raise the cost of living; it creates genuine industrial hurdles, because manufacturers cannot plan around input costs that move with a currency they do not earn. Denominating energy imports in local currency terms would break one of the most damaging transmission channels between external shocks and domestic prices. For a country whose recent history is defined by a fuel queue, this is not an abstraction.

Multipolarity, understood correctly, is a portfolio strategy. A sovereign with settlement channels in several currencies, funding relationships across several capital markets, and reserve buffers denominated in more than one unit of account is a sovereign with options during a crisis. Sri Lanka in 2022 had none, and the terms it accepted in 2023 reflect that.

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Opinion

El Niño: Sri Lanka must prepare before next climate crisis arrives

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By Chula Goonasekera,

on behalf of the LEADS Forum
Based on discussions with Ajith Wijemanna, Director General of the Department of Meteorology, and Kithsiri Abayasinghe, former Director of the Department of Meteorology

Sri Lanka may be facing another major natural challenge. Unlike many disasters, however, the warning signs are already visible, giving the country an opportunity to prepare before the situation becomes critical.

A recent discussion with two of Sri Lanka’s most experienced meteorologists highlighted concerns about the developing El Niño phenomenon and its potential consequences for the country. While no scientist can predict with certainty exactly how El Niño will evolve, current indications suggest the possibility of above-normal rainfall later this year, followed by reduced rainfall and potentially severe drought conditions in early 2027.

This is a warning Sri Lanka cannot afford to ignore.

Most Sri Lankans still remember the devastation caused by the Indian Ocean tsunami in December 2004. El Niño is fundamentally different. It does not arrive as a single catastrophic event. Instead, its effects can develop over many months, potentially bringing drought, water shortages, crop failures, extreme heat, wildfires, flooding and food insecurity.

The critical difference is that, unlike a tsunami, El Niño gives us time to prepare.

Sri Lanka therefore has a choice: act on the warnings now or pay a far greater price later.

We Must Not Wait for Disaster

The 2004 tsunami exposed Sri Lanka’s vulnerability to large-scale disasters and demonstrated the immense human and economic costs of inadequate preparedness.

El Niño cannot be prevented. However, many of its potentially damaging consequences can be reduced through early planning, effective coordination, public awareness and practical risk-reduction measures.

The purpose of this article is not to predict exactly what will happen. Rather, it is to ask a more important question:

Are we prepared for what could happen?

Depending on the intensity and evolution of El Niño, Sri Lanka could face:

· severe drought and prolonged dry spells;

· water shortages affecting households, agriculture and industry;

· reduced agricultural production and increased food insecurity;

· increased risks of forest and grassland fires;

· heatwaves and heat-related illness; and

· localised flooding caused by unusually heavy rainfall.

One threat deserves particular attention: wildfires.

During prolonged dry periods, fires can spread rapidly through forests and grasslands, destroying ecosystems, wildlife habitats, agricultural land, livelihoods and critical infrastructure, while placing enormous pressure on emergency services.

The lesson is straightforward: understanding potential worst-case scenarios before they occur greatly improves our ability to prevent them from becoming national catastrophes.

A Crucial Role for Disaster Management

We understand that Sri Lanka’s Disaster Management Centre (DMC) is already engaged in preparing the country for the potential impacts of a stronger El Niño event. Its focus must remain on helping communities prepare before emergencies arise, while ensuring that essential services continue to function during periods of crisis.

Disaster response and recovery come at a high cost to the public through government expenditure and taxpayer-funded resources. Investing in preparedness is therefore not only a humanitarian responsibility but also a sound economic strategy—particularly at a time when Sri Lanka continues to face considerable fiscal constraints and limited capacity to absorb another major shock.

The principle is clear:

Prevention is invariably less costly than recovery.

Every rupee invested in preparedness today can help prevent far greater social and economic losses tomorrow.

Listen to the Scientists

The public should pay close attention to forecasts and guidance issued by the Department of Meteorology.

At the same time, it is important to recognise that long-range forecasting is inherently complex. Climate systems involve countless interacting variables, many of which cannot be measured or predicted with complete accuracy months in advance.

When a forecast subsequently changes, this should not automatically be regarded as a failure of science. Forecasting is, by its nature, an assessment of probabilities and risks based on the best available evidence at a particular point in time.

The appropriate response is not to dismiss forecasts because they contain uncertainty, but to use them as tools for informed preparation.

What Should the Government Do?

The Government and relevant public institutions should urgently review Sri Lanka’s preparedness for drought, flooding, wildfires and extreme heat.

Key priorities should include:

· strengthening climate monitoring and early-warning systems;

· improving weather forecasting and public communication;

· developing comprehensive drought, flood and wildfire preparedness plans;

· enhancing reservoir, catchment and water-resource management;

· maintaining drainage infrastructure to reduce urban flooding;

· strengthening wildfire prevention, detection and response capabilities;

· investing in climate-resilient infrastructure; and

· establishing clear lines of responsibility and coordination among government agencies.

Coordination is particularly important. During a national emergency, citizens should never be left wondering which institution is responsible for taking action.

Water Security Must Be a National Priority

If prolonged dry conditions materialise, water security could become one of Sri Lanka’s most pressing challenges.

The country should strengthen groundwater protection, support the rehabilitation and maintenance of wells, and implement long-term water-security strategies in drought-prone regions. Such measures are important not only for human communities but also for agriculture, livestock and the natural ecosystems that sustain the country’s biodiversity.

Reservoirs and catchments must be managed carefully, while water conservation should be actively promoted among households, businesses, industries and farmers.

The key question is simple:

How much water will Sri Lanka require if the dry season lasts significantly longer than expected?

That question is far easier to answer before reservoirs begin to run dry.

Protecting Agriculture and Food Security

Agriculture remains highly vulnerable to drought and irregular rainfall. Significant disruption could result in rising food prices, reduced farm incomes and increased pressure on vulnerable households.

Sri Lanka should accelerate the adoption of drought-resistant crops, climate-smart farming techniques and efficient irrigation systems, including drip irrigation. Measures should also be taken to secure water and feed supplies for livestock, maintain strategic food reserves and strengthen weather-based advisory services for farmers.

Food security must be regarded not merely as an agricultural concern but as a matter of national resilience.

Preparing for Wildfires

Prolonged dry conditions can significantly increase wildfire risks. Sri Lanka must strengthen its capacity to prevent, detect and respond to fires before they escalate.

An effective strategy should rest on four pillars:

Prevention. Preparedness. Early detection. Rapid response.

Seasonal climate forecasts should be used to identify periods of heightened risk. Vegetation dryness, weather conditions and fire-prone regions should be monitored systematically, with modern technologies used wherever feasible.

Firebreaks should be established and maintained around vulnerable communities, forests and critical infrastructure. Dry vegetation and other combustible materials should be appropriately managed. Where environmentally and scientifically justified, carefully regulated controlled burning could also form part of an integrated fire-management strategy.

Human activity is responsible for many wildfires. During high-risk periods, open burning should therefore be restricted and unsafe land-clearing practices rigorously controlled. Public education campaigns should reinforce these measures.

Firefighting resources should be pre-positioned in high-risk areas before peak fire seasons begin. Adequate equipment and water supplies should be secured, and coordination strengthened among local authorities, fire services, forestry officials, disaster-management agencies and, where necessary, the armed forces.

Where practical and affordable, aerial firefighting capabilities should also be considered.

The guiding principle is straightforward:

Fight fires when they are small, rather than after they become uncontrollable.

Protecting Sri Lanka’s Natural Ecosystems

Healthy ecosystems are among the country’s most effective natural defences against climate stress.

Sri Lanka should protect wetlands and other water-retaining ecosystems, conserve forests, prevent unnecessary land clearing and fragmentation, and safeguard wildlife habitats from fire and degradation.

Forest conservation is not simply an environmental issue. It is central to water security, food security, biodiversity protection, public health and long-term national resilience.

Citizens Also Have a Responsibility

Preparedness cannot be the responsibility of government alone.

During dry periods, households should conserve water and avoid unnecessary waste. Communities should ensure that wells are cleaned, maintained and restored where necessary, particularly if prolonged disruptions to piped water supplies occur.

During periods of extreme heat, people should remain hydrated, avoid unnecessary outdoor activity and follow public health advice.

Families should maintain basic emergency plans and supplies. Communities in fire-prone areas should know evacuation routes and designated safe assembly points. Citizens should also avoid activities that could inadvertently start fires and remain alert to official warnings.

Particular attention should be given to vulnerable groups, including older people, people with disabilities and those with limited mobility. Communities should also be prepared for the health effects of wildfire smoke and deteriorating air quality.

From Response to Preparedness

Sri Lanka’s greatest challenge is not responding when disaster strikes. It is ensuring that natural hazards do not develop into national catastrophes.

This requires a fundamental shift from a culture of reaction to a culture of preparedness.

Government agencies, scientists, farmers, businesses, schools, community organisations and individual citizens all have important roles to play. A coordinated approach combining climate forecasting, land management, public education, community preparedness, early-warning systems and rapid emergency response can significantly reduce the risks posed by El Niño and other climate-related threats.

Even if severe drought conditions do not materialise, investments in preparedness will strengthen Sri Lanka’s resilience against future disasters. If severe conditions do occur, early preparation could save lives, protect livelihoods, reduce economic losses and prevent a difficult situation from escalating into a national crisis.

Sri Lanka has already learned, at enormous cost, the consequences of being unprepared. We should not wait for another disaster to teach us the same lesson.

The warning signs are present. The scientists are speaking. The risks are increasingly clear.

What remains is the political will and public commitment to act.

Preparation today will always cost less than recovery tomorrow.

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Opinion

Protecting Sri Lanka’s natural heritage: The leadership we need for next 75 years

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After nearly 77 years of wildlife conservation, Sri Lanka must strengthen the institutions, professional leadership and political will needed to safeguard its natural heritage for generations to come.

By Dilum Alagiyawanna

Sri Lanka has a long and proud history of protecting its natural heritage. Generations of wildlife officers, forest officers, scientists, researchers, field staff and conservationists have worked, often under difficult circumstances, to protect our forests, wildlife and ecosystems. Their contribution deserves recognition and respect.

One important milestone in this journey came in October 1949, when the Wildlife department was established as a separate institution, following the Fauna and Flora Protection Ordinance of 1937 and the expansion of the country’s wildlife reserves. The creation of a dedicated department reflected an important recognition of the time: wildlife conservation required specialised institutional attention.

Today, nearly 77 years after its establishment, Sri Lanka has an opportunity not simply to reflect on that institutional journey, but to consider what kind of institutions and leadership we need for the next 75 years.

This is not an argument about the individuals currently holding positions in our conservation institutions. Nor is it intended to question the commitment, professionalism or sacrifices of the many public servants who have served these institutions over the years.

It is a broader institutional question.

What kind of leadership does Sri Lanka need to protect its natural heritage in the 21st century?

The issue is not who occupies a particular position today. It is whether our system of identifying, developing and appointing leaders is designed to meet the conservation challenges of tomorrow

A Changing conservation landscape

When many of our major conservation institutions were established, the principal challenges were relatively straightforward: establish protected areas, prevent poaching, enforce wildlife legislation and protect forests and wildlife from direct exploitation.

Those responsibilities remain fundamental.

But conservation today is considerably more complex.

Habitat fragmentation, expanding infrastructure, human-elephant conflict, climate change, invasive species, pollution, wildlife disease, road mortality, unplanned tourism and competing demands for land and water are placing increasing pressures on ecosystems.

Conservation can no longer be treated as an isolated environmental concern.

A highway can fragment a wildlife habitat. An irrigation project can alter an ecosystem. Poorly planned tourism can degrade a protected landscape. Agricultural expansion can affect wildlife movement. Climate change can alter species distributions, water availability and ecosystem resilience.

Conservation therefore intersects with agriculture, irrigation, energy, transport, tourism, disaster management, climate policy, land-use planning and national economic development.

It has become a multidisciplinary national policy challenge.

Beyond administration: What conservation leadership requires

There is nothing inherently wrong with a career public service.

Sri Lanka needs a professional, impartial and experienced public administration. Administrative knowledge, institutional memory and an understanding of government procedures are indispensable to the functioning of the State.

The question is whether administrative experience and seniority alone should be the principal criteria for leading institutions entrusted with complex living ecosystems and irreplaceable natural capital.

I believe they should not.

Leadership of major natural-resource institutions should combine administrative competence with scientific and technical understanding, field experience, strategic thinking, integrity, sound judgement and a demonstrated commitment to conservation outcomes.

This is not an argument for automatically replacing administrators with scientists. Nor is personal passion for nature, by itself, sufficient.

What Sri Lanka needs is mission-driven professional leadership.

A person leading a conservation institution should understand not only how to administer a government department, but also why that institution exists, what ecological outcomes it is expected to achieve and what may happen if those outcomes are not achieved.

Dr P. E. P. Deraniyagala: A legacy of scientific leadership

Sri Lanka’s own history provides a remarkable example of what can happen when scientific expertise, intellectual curiosity and institutional leadership come together.

Dr P. E. P. Deraniyagala was a zoologist, palaeontologist and naturalist whose contribution to Sri Lanka’s natural heritage extended far beyond the formal responsibilities of a government position.

He was appointed Director of the Colombo Museum in 1939 and, following the reorganisation of the museums, became the first Director of the Department of National Museums, a position he held until his retirement in 1963. His scientific work ranged from Sri Lanka’s living fauna to fossil elephants and other extinct prehistoric mammals.

It lies in what he brought to that position.

He brought scientific curiosity, intellectual independence, research capability and a lifelong commitment to understanding Sri Lanka’s natural heritage.

He did not simply administer an institution concerned with heritage. He contributed to the body of knowledge upon which our understanding of that heritage depended.

That is an important lesson for today.

Our conservation institutions must not merely administer conservation programmes. They must increasingly become knowledge-driven institutions capable of generating, interpreting and applying scientific evidence to management decisions.

From institutional continuity to institutional renewal

After nearly 77 years of experience, the appropriate response is not to criticise or dismantle the institutions that have served the country.

It is to ask how we can make them stronger, more scientifically capable, technologically advanced and better equipped for the next 75 years.

The challenges of 2026 are vastly different from those of 1949.

Satellite remote sensing, GIS, GPS telemetry, camera trapping, drones, genetic analysis, artificial intelligence and ecological modelling can transform how wildlife and ecosystems are understood and managed.

But technology alone cannot transform conservation.

Institutions need the scientific capacity to interpret information, the field capacity to collect reliable data and, above all, leadership capable of turning evidence into timely decisions.

A capable leader, however, also needs an institution with adequate resources, professional autonomy, scientific capacity and the authority to act. Leadership reform therefore cannot be reduced simply to changing individuals. It must also strengthen the institutional environment in which those individuals operate.

From species management to ecosystem stewardship

Sri Lanka must also move beyond a narrow concept of wildlife management.

An elephant is not simply an animal to be managed when it enters a village.

A leopard is not simply a species to be protected when a conflict occurs.

A forest is not simply a designated area on a map.

Each exists within a larger ecological system.

Effective conservation therefore requires landscape-level thinking: protecting habitats, maintaining ecological connectivity, securing watersheds, managing human activity and ensuring that development decisions properly account for ecological consequences.

Conservation expertise must therefore be incorporated into national development planning before decisions are made, rather than being brought into the process after environmental conflicts have already emerged.

Preventing conservation conflicts before they reach the courts

There is another reality that cannot be ignored.

For decades, conservationists, environmental organisations, researchers, professionals and concerned citizens have repeatedly found themselves having to seek administrative, political and sometimes judicial intervention when environmental concerns have not been adequately resolved through normal institutional processes.

The courts have consequently become an important safeguard for environmental protection.

But this should make us ask a deeper question.

Why should citizens repeatedly have to go to court to protect a forest, wildlife habitat, wetland or other environmentally sensitive area when the State already has institutions, laws, scientists and regulatory mechanisms designed to address these matters?

Judicial intervention is an essential component of a democratic system and an important safeguard for the public interest. But courts should not have to become the primary mechanism through which conservation policy is resolved, case by case.

A judicial determination necessarily operates within the legal and evidentiary framework before the court. It cannot substitute for a scientifically informed conservation policy or a strong institutional mechanism capable of identifying and resolving environmental risks at an early stage.

The objective should therefore be to build institutions strong enough to prevent many of these disputes from reaching the courtroom in the first place.

Conservationists and environmental organisations should ideally be able to engage with government institutions early in the decision-making process, supported by credible scientific evidence and transparent procedures, rather than being forced into the role of permanent opponents of the State.

Leadership that gets decisions right

This is precisely why Sri Lanka needs conservation leadership with the knowledge, independence, judgement and courage to make the right decisions at the right time.

Good conservation leadership is not simply about enforcing the law after a conflict has emerged.

It is about anticipating problems, understanding ecological consequences, identifying risks early and taking scientifically sound decisions before an issue becomes a political, social or legal dispute.

Sometimes the right decision may require saying no.

Sometimes it may require proposing a better alternative.

And sometimes it may require bringing scientists, communities, development agencies and political decision-makers together early enough to find a solution that protects both the public interest and the environment.

This is not about confrontation with governments or development.

It is about preventing unnecessary confrontation by getting the decision right in the first place.

The right leader can prevent a conservation problem from becoming an administrative problem, an administrative problem from becoming a political problem, and a political problem from ultimately becoming a legal dispute.

The best conservation decision is often the one that prevents the conflict from arising in the first place.

Conservation requires political will

Strong professional leadership, however, is not enough.

Conservation also requires political leadership with the vision, commitment and political will to support the right decisions, particularly when they may be difficult or politically inconvenient.

India’s Project Tiger, launched in 1973, provides a compelling example. The Government of India established the programme in response to the serious decline of tiger populations, creating a national conservation initiative that combined scientific management, protected areas and strong political commitment.

Indira Gandhi’s interest in environmental protection and her government’s support helped create the political conditions for major conservation initiatives during that period.

The lesson is not that political leaders should run conservation institutions.

It is the opposite.

Political leadership must create the space, authority and support for professional conservation institutions to do their job properly.

A scientifically sound decision made by a conservation institution can achieve little if political leadership is unwilling to stand behind it. Conversely, political will, working together with scientific and professional leadership, can turn a good conservation idea into a transformative national programme.

Sri Lanka needs both sides of this equation:

professional conservation leadership capable of making the right decisions, and political leadership with the will to support those decisions in the national interest.

The ideal relationship is not political interference in conservation.

It is political commitment to evidence-based conservation.

Natural Heritage Is National Capital

Sri Lanka’s natural resources should also be recognised as national capital.

Forests support water security.

Wetlands provide natural flood protection.

Healthy watersheds support agriculture and hydropower.

Biodiversity supports tourism.

Marine ecosystems support fisheries.

Intact landscapes provide resilience against climate-related disasters.

When these systems are degraded, the country incurs an economic cost.

The question should therefore not simply be:

How much will conservation cost?

It should also be:

How much will it cost Sri Lanka if we fail to conserve its natural capital?

This is why conservation expertise must be integrated into national development decision-making from the beginning.

Choosing the leaders for tomorrow

Sri Lanka does not lack people with knowledge, experience and commitment.

Our universities, research institutions, wildlife and forest services, professional organisations and civil society contain scientists, researchers, field practitioners and conservationists with considerable expertise.

What is needed is a system that allows this expertise to contribute more effectively to institutional leadership.

Future appointments to senior positions in natural-resource institutions should therefore consider more than administrative seniority.

They should consider:

Scientific and technical competence

Conservation and field experience

Strategic leadership

Institutional management capability

Integrity and independence

Understanding of communities and stakeholders

A demonstrated record of achieving meaningful outcomes

Such a system would not weaken the public service.

It would strengthen it by bringing administrative excellence and conservation excellence together.

The Wildlife Department is a useful lens through which to examine this broader question, but the issue extends far beyond wildlife. It concerns every institution entrusted with Sri Lanka’s forests, biodiversity, wetlands, coastal ecosystems, marine resources and other forms of natural capital.

What should Sri Lanka’s conservation institutions look like for the next 75 years?

Sri Lanka should be proud of the conservation institutions it has built since the middle of the last century.

But institutional pride should never become institutional complacency.

The establishment of the Wildlife Department in 1949 was itself an example of institutional adaptation. The country recognised that wildlife conservation had become sufficiently important and specialised to require a dedicated institution.

The same principle applies today.

The conservation challenges of 2026 are vastly different from those of 1949.

The answer is not to abandon what was built.

It is to evolve it.

We need conservation institutions that are stronger, more scientific, more innovative and better equipped to influence national development decisions.

We need leadership selection systems that recognise conservation as a specialised professional responsibility.

We need a public service in which administrative excellence is complemented by scientific expertise, field experience and a genuine commitment to conservation outcomes.

And we need political leadership with the vision and will to recognise that protecting natural capital is not an obstacle to national development, but an essential condition for sustainable national prosperity.

This is not about replacing individuals.

It is about building a better system for the future.

It is not about weakening existing institutions.

It is about strengthening them for the challenges ahead.

And it is not about choosing between development and conservation.

It is about ensuring that development does not destroy the natural capital upon which Sri Lanka’s long-term prosperity depends.

After nearly 77 years of dedicated wildlife conservation, perhaps this is the right moment to ask a fundamental question:

What should Sri Lanka’s conservation institutions look like for the next 75 years?

The answer should not reject the past.

It should be an ambitious evolution of it.

Because when the next generation looks back at our time, they will not judge us simply by how well we administered the institutions we inherited.

They will judge us by what forests remained standing, what species survived, what ecosystems remained intact, and whether we had the wisdom and courage to pass on Sri Lanka’s extraordinary natural heritage in better condition than we received it.

Author: Dilum Alagiyawanna is a telecommunications engineer turned environmental and wildlife conservationist, citizen scientist and wildlife documentary filmmaker. His work bridges science, public policy and sustainable development, with particular emphasis on the long-term conservation of Sri Lanka’s elephants and other threatened species.

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