Features
Listening to T.m
By Uditha Devapriya
I first encountered T. M. Jayaratne through the films of K. A. W. Perera. Most of them were scored by Premasiri Khemadasa, who, in more than one sense, introduced Jayaratne to popular audiences. Together with Sanath Nandasiri, Sunil Edirisinghe, Mervin Perera, and of course Victor Ratnayake, Jayaratne belongs to a third generation, the successors of a long line of vocalists that begins with Rukmani Devi and flows over to Amaradeva. Quoting Ajith Samaranayake, it is rather difficult to locate them on the social map, because they touch it at several points. The biographer hence confronts an impossible task.
Jayaratne emerges from roughly the same milieu as Amaradeva, a bilingual Sinhala middle-class. It would be wrong, however, to situate them in the same social environment. While Amaradeva’s emergence as an artiste coincided with the bureaucratisation of the arts, in particular music, Jayaratne’s generation emerged at a time when that process had reached its fruition. A number of factors, prominently free education, but also the conversion of two pirivenas to State universities, had laid the groundwork for these developments. Jayaratne and his colleagues figured in an interregnum of sorts: free education and the nationalisation of the arts had emancipated swabasha speaking folk, but these artistes hailed from a social and cultural environment partly moored in the pre-swabasha era.
This was true particularly of Jayaratne. Born in the village of Dodanwala, Kandy, in 1944, he was first sent to St Anthony’s College in Katugastota. At St Anthony’s, he forayed into Western music. “What we did in our music class,” he told me, “was to gather around our teacher and her piano and sing ‘Row Row Row Your Boat’ and ‘Under the Spreading Chestnut Tree’.” Eventually, he admitted, “we became more inclined towards Western music, even Western culture.” It hardly needs adding that, as with all missionary schools, St Anthony’s taught in the English medium. Of the teachers at school, Jayaratne remembered the Rector, Reverend Father Rosati, the best. A graduate of the University of London, Father Rosati epitomised an education system that was soon to pass.
“We adored him,” Jayaratne recalled. ‘It was hard to escape him. He used to visit our classes and ask questions, out of the blue. If we answered correctly, he would praise us and give us lozenges. After handing them, he’d turn around to those who hadn’t answered rightly and say, ‘And for those who didn’t get the correct answer, don’t be annoyed with me, I have lozenges for you as well.’ It was impossible not to like the man.”

A key motif that runs through the careers of Jayaratne’s contemporaries is their middle-class origins. While cut off from the Westernised bourgeoisie, they were nevertheless part of an emerging, articulate Sinhala middle-class. Their financial status, not surprisingly, depended on the careers of their fathers and forebearers. This was true of Jayaratne as well: his father worked as a government servant. As with almost all government servants, he was prone to being transferred from one region to another. Barely two years after his son had been enrolled to St Anthony’s, he was requested to leave for Nuwara Eliya.
Jayaratne remembers this as the beginning of a particularly hectic period. “Father would leave for work on Monday morning and come back on Friday evening to spend the weekend with us. He endured this routine for two years, after which he got another transfer, this time to Anuradhapura. He pushed for a delay. He got it delayed for two years.” Once those two years were up, Jayaratne recalls, the transfer request was renewed. “We obviously needed to act fast. I had an aunt who lived in Kurunegala. So father quickly got himself a transfer to Kurunegala. This meant enrolling at and attending another school. I was thus taken out of St Anthony’s and introduced to Maliyadeva Vidyalaya. I started at Grade Seven.”
Started in 1888 at the heyday of the Buddhist Revival, Maliyadeva Vidyalaya stood out as a leading boys’ school in not just Kurunegala and the North-Western Province, but the whole country as well. While a far cry from St Anthony’s, it retained the curriculum in operation at Christian schools. However, its social and cultural environment differed considerably from missionary schools: students spoke in Sinhala and most of them professed Buddhism. By Jayaratne’s own confession, “it was difficult to get used to this shift. English was limited to one subject, and in every respect the subjects we learnt were indigenised, more in tune with Sinhala and Buddhist culture. I noticed this during our music classes too. We no longer sang English nursery rhymes, we only performed ragas and Hindustani melodies.”
What is fascinating here is that, despite these shifts, Maliyadeva failed to nativize Jayaratne or his friends. It in fact made them more cosmopolitan. “What I came to appreciate more than
anything else at Maliyadeva was that there was no essential difference between the music I had learnt and the music I was being taught now. I saw no wide chasm between the ‘Do Re Mi’ I had sung with relish at St Anthony’s and the ‘Sa Ri Ga Ma Pa’ I had to imbibe at Maliyadeva.” In other words, the new learning environment failed to inhibit him or to make him more insular. It merely made him dig deeper, in search of his roots.
The senior music master at Maliyadeva, K. M. Dayapala, noticed Jayaratne’s penchant for singing earlier on. He encouraged him to sit the music exams while pursuing their studies. “He was a persistent teacher and a persistent man. He strived to keep us a cut above the rest. Eventually he managed to get us through all three stages of the music exams conducted by the Gandharva Sabhawa and held in Kandy. The exams were based on two categories: vocal and instrumental. I passed in both categories and at all three stages.”
Dayapala’s endeavours did not end there. While the university entrance exams were around the corner, the government published a Gazette Notification calling for applications from those who aspired to teach music. “Mr Dayapala asked us to sit the entrance exams and apply for music teaching vacancies after them. By some stroke of luck, I was called to the Education Department at Kollupitiya, where some officials interviewed me. Initially I felt I had not been selected, so I soon abandoned all hopes I had of teaching music. But then, not long afterwards, the Director of Education personally informed me that I had been selected. I would be posted to a school near Colombo. I was obviously overwhelmed.”
Through the Department of Education, Jayaratne entered a new world and a new environment, one moulded by new values. Interestingly, his appointment to his first school – Hewawitharana Maha Vidyalaya in Rajagiriya – was made on the same day (September 7) that five other aspiring teachers were given their first appointments: Victor Ratnayake (Aththalapitiya Maha Vidyalaya in Bandarawela), Sanath Nandasiri (Uhana Maha Vidyalaya in Ampara), Mervin Perera (Kohombara Maha Vidyalaya in Ampara), Shelton Perera (Sri Pada Maha Vidyalaya in Hatton), and Sarath Dassanayake (Niwaththakachethiya Maha Vidyalaya in Anuradhapura). These were to be his contemporaries in a few years time, and as he himself put it to me, “our careers converged frequently thereafter.”
While engaged in his job, Jayaratne got involved with various stage dramas and concerts, supplementing his income. “I would get up to Rs. 20 a show. It was not much by today’s standards, but a lot back then, considering my monthly rent was Rs. 55.”
Those shows eventually got him into a vivida prasangaya organised at the Teachers’ Training College in Maharagama, where he once had to perform in place of a singer who hadn’t turned up. The organiser of that prasangaya, C. de S. Kulathilaka, was subsequently appointed as the Head of the Folk Music Research Unit at the SLBC. He had been impressed with Jayaratne’s voice, and soon afterwards, he took him into the unit to perform refined, accompanied versions of various folk songs he was tasked with recording from across the country. “One of the songs I performed, Badda Watata, was heard by a man who called the SLBC. He got to know that I taught at a school located near his house. I started working with him soon after.” That man was Premasiri Khemadasa.
Jayaratne’s collaboration with Khemadasa has been charted many times before. Suffice it to say that Khemadasa opened him up to popular audiences, thereby establishing him at the centre of the country’s musical landscape. Of his erstwhile colleague, Jayaratne remembers that he was “quite a mercurial man, prone to losing his temper if he didn’t and couldn’t get what he wanted out of you.” Despite this, two of us got on very well with each other, even as Jayaratne continued to work at the Education Ministry and, later, at Sacred Heart College in Rajagiriya, where he taught for five years before retiring.
Retirement has not, of course, hindered Jayaratne from singing. He still sings, and occasionally, performs. “One of the last from his generation” comes nowhere close to describing the worth and merit of this man, but for now, it will do. What more can one say, or choose to say, about such personalities, when all one can do is borrow the cliches of the newspaper tribute and cultural essay when dwelling on them?
The writer is an international relations analyst, researcher, and columnist
who can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com.
Features
Rebuilding the country requires consultation
A positive feature of the government that is emerging is its responsiveness to public opinion. The manner in which it has been responding to the furore over the Grade 6 English Reader, in which a weblink to a gay dating site was inserted, has been constructive. Government leaders have taken pains to explain the mishap and reassure everyone concerned that it was not meant to be there and would be removed. They have been meeting religious prelates, educationists and community leaders. In a context where public trust in institutions has been badly eroded over many years, such responsiveness matters. It signals that the government sees itself as accountable to society, including to parents, teachers, and those concerned about the values transmitted through the school system.
This incident also appears to have strengthened unity within the government. The attempt by some opposition politicians and gender misogynists to pin responsibility for this lapse on Prime Minister Dr Harini Amarasuriya, who is also the Minister of Education, has prompted other senior members of the government to come to her defence. This is contrary to speculation that the powerful JVP component of the government is unhappy with the prime minister. More importantly, it demonstrates an understanding within the government that individual ministers should not be scapegoated for systemic shortcomings. Effective governance depends on collective responsibility and solidarity within the leadership, especially during moments of public controversy.
The continuing important role of the prime minister in the government is evident in her meetings with international dignitaries and also in addressing the general public. Last week she chaired the inaugural meeting of the Presidential Task Force to Rebuild Sri Lanka in the aftermath of Cyclone Ditwah. The composition of the task force once again reflects the responsiveness of the government to public opinion. Unlike previous mechanisms set up by governments, which were either all male or without ethnic minority representation, this one includes both, and also includes civil society representation. Decision-making bodies in which there is diversity are more likely to command public legitimacy.
Task Force
The Presidential Task Force to Rebuild Sri Lanka overlooks eight committees to manage different aspects of the recovery, each headed by a sector minister. These committees will focus on Needs Assessment, Restoration of Public Infrastructure, Housing, Local Economies and Livelihoods, Social Infrastructure, Finance and Funding, Data and Information Systems, and Public Communication. This structure appears comprehensive and well designed. However, experience from post-disaster reconstruction in countries such as Indonesia and Sri Lanka after the 2004 tsunami suggests that institutional design alone does not guarantee success. What matters equally is how far these committees engage with those on the ground and remain open to feedback that may complicate, slow down, or even challenge initial plans.
An option that the task force might wish to consider is to develop a linkage with civil society groups with expertise in the areas that the task force is expected to work. The CSO Collective for Emergency Relief has set up several committees that could be linked to the committees supervised by the task force. Such linkages would not weaken the government’s authority but strengthen it by grounding policy in lived realities. Recent findings emphasise the idea of “co-production”, where state and society jointly shape solutions in which sustainable outcomes often emerge when communities are treated not as passive beneficiaries but as partners in problem-solving.
Cyclone Ditwah destroyed more than physical infrastructure. It also destroyed communities. Some were swallowed by landslides and floods, while many others will need to be moved from their homes as they live in areas vulnerable to future disasters. The trauma of displacement is not merely material but social and psychological. Moving communities to new locations requires careful planning. It is not simply a matter of providing people with houses. They need to be relocated to locations and in a manner that permits communities to live together and to have livelihoods. This will require consultation with those who are displaced. Post-disaster evaluations have acknowledged that relocation schemes imposed without community consent often fail, leading to abandonment of new settlements or the emergence of new forms of marginalisation. Even today, abandoned tsunami housing is to be seen in various places that were affected by the 2004 tsunami.
Malaiyaha Tamils
The large-scale reconstruction that needs to take place in parts of the country most severely affected by Cyclone Ditwah also brings an opportunity to deal with the special problems of the Malaiyaha Tamil population. These are people of recent Indian origin who were unjustly treated at the time of Independence and denied rights of citizenship such as land ownership and the vote. This has been a festering problem and a blot on the conscience of the country. The need to resettle people living in those parts of the hill country which are vulnerable to landslides is an opportunity to do justice by the Malaiyaha Tamil community. Technocratic solutions such as high-rise apartments or English-style townhouses that have or are being contemplated may be cost-effective, but may also be culturally inappropriate and socially disruptive. The task is not simply to build houses but to rebuild communities.
The resettlement of people who have lost their homes and communities requires consultation with them. In the same manner, the education reform programme, of which the textbook controversy is only a small part, too needs to be discussed with concerned stakeholders including school teachers and university faculty. Opening up for discussion does not mean giving up one’s own position or values. Rather, it means recognising that better solutions emerge when different perspectives are heard and negotiated. Consultation takes time and can be frustrating, particularly in contexts of crisis where pressure for quick results is intense. However, solutions developed with stakeholder participation are more resilient and less costly in the long run.
Rebuilding after Cyclone Ditwah, addressing historical injustices faced by the Malaiyaha Tamil community, advancing education reform, changing the electoral system to hold provincial elections without further delay and other challenges facing the government, including national reconciliation, all require dialogue across differences and patience with disagreement. Opening up for discussion is not to give up on one’s own position or values, but to listen, to learn, and to arrive at solutions that have wider acceptance. Consultation needs to be treated as an investment in sustainability and legitimacy and not as an obstacle to rapid decisionmaking. Addressing the problems together, especially engagement with affected parties and those who work with them, offers the best chance of rebuilding not only physical infrastructure but also trust between the government and people in the year ahead.
by Jehan Perera
Features
PSTA: Terrorism without terror continues
When the government appointed a committee, led by Rienzie Arsekularatne, Senior President’s Counsel, to draft a new law to replace the Prevention of Terrorism Act (PTA), as promised by the ruling NPP, the writer, in an article published in this journal in July 2025, expressed optimism that, given Arsekularatne’s experience in criminal justice, he would be able to address issues from the perspectives of the State, criminal justice, human rights, suspects, accused, activists, and victims. The draft Protection of the State from Terrorism Act (PSTA), produced by the Committee, has been sharply criticised by individuals and organisations who expected a better outcome that aligns with modern criminal justice and human rights principles.
This article is limited to a discussion of the definition of terrorism. As the writer explained previously, the dangers of an overly broad definition go beyond conviction and increased punishment. Special laws on terrorism allow deviations from standard laws in areas such as preventive detention, arrest, administrative detention, restrictions on judicial decisions regarding bail, lengthy pre-trial detention, the use of confessions, superadded punishments, such as confiscation of property and cancellation of professional licences, banning organisations, and restrictions on publications, among others. The misuse of such laws is not uncommon. Drastic legislation, such as the PTA and emergency regulations, although intended to be used to curb intense violence and deal with emergencies, has been exploited to suppress political opposition.
International Standards
The writer’s basic premise is that, for an act to come within the definition of terrorism, it must either involve “terror” or a “state of intense or overwhelming fear” or be committed to achieve an objective of an individual or organisation that uses “terror” or a “state of intense or overwhelming fear” to realise its aims. The UN General Assembly has accepted that the threshold for a possible general offence of terrorism is the provocation of “a state of terror” (Resolution 60/43). The Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe has taken a similar view, using the phrase “to create a climate of terror.”
In his 2023 report on the implementation of the UN Global Counter-Terrorism Strategy, the Secretary-General warned that vague and overly broad definitions of terrorism in domestic law, often lacking adequate safeguards, violate the principle of legality under international human rights law. He noted that such laws lead to heavy-handed, ineffective, and counterproductive counter-terrorism practices and are frequently misused to target civil society actors and human rights defenders by labelling them as terrorists to obstruct their work.
The United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC) has stressed in its Handbook on Criminal Justice Responses to Terrorism that definitions of terrorist acts must use precise and unambiguous language, narrowly define punishable conduct and clearly distinguish it from non-punishable behaviour or offences subject to other penalties. The handbook was developed over several months by a team of international experts, including the writer, and was finalised at a workshop in Vienna.
Anti-Terrorism Bill, 2023
A five-member Bench of the Supreme Court that examined the Anti-Terrorism Bill, 2023, agreed with the petitioners that the definition of terrorism in the Bill was too broad and infringed Article 12(1) of the Constitution, and recommended that an exemption (“carve out”) similar to that used in New Zealand under which “the fact that a person engages in any protest, advocacy, or dissent, or engages in any strike, lockout, or other industrial action, is not, by itself, a sufficient basis for inferring that the person” committed the wrongful acts that would otherwise constitute terrorism.
While recognising the Court’s finding that the definition was too broad, the writer argued, in his previous article, that the political, administrative, and law enforcement cultures of the country concerned are crucial factors to consider. Countries such as New Zealand are well ahead of developing nations, where the risk of misuse is higher, and, therefore, definitions should be narrower, with broader and more precise exemptions. How such a “carve out” would play out in practice is uncertain.
In the Supreme Court, it was submitted that for an act to constitute an offence, under a special law on terrorism, there must be terror unleashed in the commission of the act, or it must be carried out in pursuance of the object of an organisation that uses terror to achieve its objectives. In general, only acts that aim at creating “terror” or a “state of intense or overwhelming fear” should come under the definition of terrorism. There can be terrorism-related acts without violence, for example, when a member of an extremist organisation remotely sabotages an electronic, automated or computerised system in pursuance of the organisation’s goal. But when the same act is committed by, say, a whizz-kid without such a connection, that would be illegal and should be punished, but not under a special law on terrorism. In its determination of the Bill, the Court did not address this submission.
PSTA Proposal
Proposed section 3(1) of the PSTA reads:
Any person who, intentionally or knowingly, commits any act which causes a consequence specified in subsection (2), for the purpose of-
(a) provoking a state of terror;
(b) intimidating the public or any section of the public;
(c) compelling the Government of Sri Lanka, or any other Government, or an international organisation, to do or to abstain from doing any act; or
(d) propagating war, or violating territorial integrity or infringing the sovereignty of Sri Lanka or any other sovereign country, commits the offence of terrorism.
The consequences listed in sub-section (2) include: death; hurt; hostage-taking; abduction or kidnapping; serious damage to any place of public use, any public property, any public or private transportation system or any infrastructure facility or environment; robbery, extortion or theft of public or private property; serious risk to the health and safety of the public or a section of the public; serious obstruction or damage to, or interference with, any electronic or automated or computerised system or network or cyber environment of domains assigned to, or websites registered with such domains assigned to Sri Lanka; destruction of, or serious damage to, religious or cultural property; serious obstruction or damage to, or interference with any electronic, analogue, digital or other wire-linked or wireless transmission system, including signal transmission and any other frequency-based transmission system; without lawful authority, importing, exporting, manufacturing, collecting, obtaining, supplying, trafficking, possessing or using firearms, offensive weapons, ammunition, explosives, articles or things used in the manufacture of explosives or combustible or corrosive substances and biological, chemical, electric, electronic or nuclear weapons, other nuclear explosive devices, nuclear material, radioactive substances, or radiation-emitting devices.
Under section 3(5), “any person who commits an act which constitutes an offence under the nine international treaties on terrorism, ratified by Sri Lanka, also commits the offence of terrorism.” No one would contest that.
The New Zealand “carve-out” is found in sub-section (4): “The fact that a person engages in any protest, advocacy or dissent or engages in any strike, lockout or other industrial action, is not by itself a sufficient basis for inferring that such person (a) commits or attempts, abets, conspires, or prepares to commit the act with the intention or knowledge specified in subsection (1); or (b) is intending to cause or knowingly causes an outcome specified in subsection (2).”
While the Arsekularatne Committee has proposed, including the New Zealand “carve out”, it has ignored a crucial qualification in section 5(2) of that country’s Terrorism Suppression Act, that for an act to be considered a terrorist act, it must be carried out for one or more purposes that are or include advancing “an ideological, political, or religious cause”, with the intention of either intimidating a population or coercing or forcing a government or an international organisation to do or abstain from doing any act.
When the Committee was appointed, the Human Rights Commission of Sri Lanka opined that any new offence with respect to “terrorism” should contain a specific and narrow definition of terrorism, such as the following: “Any person who by the use of force or violence unlawfully targets the civilian population or a segment of the civilian population with the intent to spread fear among such population or segment thereof in furtherance of a political, ideological, or religious cause commits the offence of terrorism”.
The writer submits that, rather than bringing in the requirement of “a political, ideological, or religious cause”, it would be prudent to qualify proposed section 3(1) by the requirement that only acts that aim at creating “terror” or a “state of intense or overwhelming fear” or are carried out to achieve a goal of an individual or organisation that employs “terror” or a “state of intense or overwhelming fear” to attain its objectives should come under the definition of terrorism. Such a threshold is recognised internationally; no “carve out” is then needed, and the concerns of the Human Rights Commission would also be addressed.
by Dr. Jayampathy Wickramaratne
President’s Counsel
Features
ROCK meets REGGAE 2026
We generally have in our midst the famous JAYASRI twins, Rohitha and Rohan, who are based in Austria but make it a point to entertain their fans in Sri Lanka on a regular basis.
Well, rock and reggae fans get ready for a major happening on 28th February (Oops, a special day where I’m concerned!) as the much-awaited ROCK meets REGGAE event booms into action at the Nelum Pokuna outdoor theatre.
It was seven years ago, in 2019, that the last ROCK meets REGGAE concert was held in Colombo, and then the Covid scene cropped up.

Chitral Somapala with BLACK MAJESTY
This year’s event will feature our rock star Chitral Somapala with the Australian Rock+Metal band BLACK MAJESTY, and the reggae twins Rohitha and Rohan Jayalath with the original JAYASRI – the full band, with seven members from Vienna, Austria.
According to Rohitha, the JAYASRI outfit is enthusiastically looking forward to entertaining music lovers here with their brand of music.
Their playlist for 28th February will consist of the songs they do at festivals in Europe, as well as originals, and also English and Sinhala hits, and selected covers.
Says Rohitha: “We have put up a great team, here in Sri Lanka, to give this event an international setting and maintain high standards, and this will be a great experience for our Sri Lankan music lovers … not only for Rock and Reggae fans. Yes, there will be some opening acts, and many surprises, as well.”

Rohitha, Chitral and Rohan: Big scene at ROCK meets REGGAE
Rohitha and Rohan also conveyed their love and festive blessings to everyone in Sri Lanka, stating “This Christmas was different as our country faced a catastrophic situation and, indeed, it’s a great time to help and share the real love of Jesus Christ by helping the poor, the needy and the homeless people. Let’s RISE UP as a great nation in 2026.”
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