Features

Nightmare in the sea off Kalpitiya and old-time resthouses

Published

3 years ago

2023/04/2

Thilina Walpola

The aluminium boat at Kollankanatta, Wilpattu West Sanctuary Coast (late 1950)

Excerpted from the authorized biography of Thilo Hoffmann
by Douglas B. Ranasinghe

In the 1950s and 60s Thilo kept a flat-bottomed aluminium boat fitted with an outboard motor at the Baurs Red Mill property on the banks of the Kelani Ganga.During the north-east monsoon, trips were made to Mount Lavinia or Negombo on weekends. With a rough sea it was often difficult to negotiate the transition from the river to the sea, taking the breakers in the proper way and avoiding sandbanks both in and out of the estuary. During the south-west monsoon Negombo was reached through the Hamilton Canal and Negombo Lagoon.

On one occasion the boat was transported by lorry to Kalpitiya. From there very early in the morning Thilo, Mae and David Whittaker, who had built the vessel, left for Kollankanatta. There, in Wilpattu, by Portugal Bay, on a flat stretch of seashore overgrown with iluk, Thilo had a lease of one acre of land where he had wanted to build a bungalow. He later gave this up when, chiefly on his own proposal, the area was added to the Wilpattu National Park.

At this place they spent the morning exploring archaeological sites, and befriending a Sinhalese fisherman by the name of Alfred, pronounced ‘Alpred’. He tried to warn them of the up-coming wind, and urged them to return early to Kalpitiya.

The visitors did not understand him properly, and left only at mid-afternoon. By now the south-west wind had thrown up heavy waves. These pounded the boat mercilessly and nearly drowned the occupants in constant heavy spray. After an hour or more of trying they had to give up the intention of returning that day. Eventually, the night was spent, cold and uncomfortable, on a rocky shelf of the shore between Karuwalakuda and Vellamundel, about halfway back to Kalpitiya.

At dawn, on a mirror-smooth surface and in no time, they reached Kalpitiya. There the lorry and driver awaited their return. But the delay had caused a major alarm situation at Baurs and at Palugaswewa Estate, minutes short of a request for a police and aerial search operation.

In those days the islands and shores north of Kalpitiya, in Dutch and Portugal Bays, were uninhabited. (Thilo had proposed to extend the Wilpattu National Park westward to include this marine area and its two main islands.)

Only during the north-east monsoon would some coastal fishing camps be in use there, the catch being dried for easy transport to Kalpitiya at the end of the season. There were a few Catholic churches, at Pallugaturai for example. During the south-west monsoon the area is difficult, and was abandoned, the shallow water being rough and muddy. Today it is populated throughout, and both bays are astir with hundreds of noisy fishing boats.

Years later, in the 1970s, Kalpitiya was again the starting point of an adventure. Mr de Livera who owned Titus Stores, and whose father Thilo had known, maintained a fleet of small fishing trawlers there. He phoned to say that his captains had reported a mass movement of turtles in the sea west of the Kalpitiya Peninsula, and invited Thilo to join one of the ships. Thilo could not resist such an opportunity, and he drove up with his friend Guido Baumann.

They joined the boat which left around 4 p.m. that Saturday. It was a pleasant trip up Dutch Bay and out to sea south of Karaitivu Island. Pods of dolphins were basking in the setting sun.But as the evening and then night progressed a strong north-east wind came up and waves began to rock the small vessel. Thilo and Guido are bad sailors. The expedition turned into a nightmare for both. This was made worse by offers of food or a drink of arrack from time to time by the captain. Wireless phone calls from their host in Colombo who inquired about their well-being did not improve it!

At about 10 p.m. the engine was stopped, the crew had released a very large drift net, and the boat rode at one end of it until morning, pitching and tossing in the heavy waves in a screw-like motion. It was, says Thilo, probably the worst night either of them had ever spent. Guido lay on deck vomiting in the bitter cold. Thilo lay on a bench in the stinking, cockroach-infested hold, braced with his feet and elbows against being tossed into the bilge, his innermost parts seeming to erupt at each upward jolt.

At daybreak the net was hauled in. There were less than a dozen fish. The waves had abated and the boat peacefully chugged back to Kalpitiya. Not one turtle had been sighted.

Farther north on the West coast, Thilo explored the area which includes Devil’s Point, and the uninhabited twin islands of Iranativu, on the coast south of Pooneryn. The only building on the islands is a Catholic church, as on some other remote coasts and islands used by seasonal fishermen.

He was able to visit the Great and Little Basses off the South-West coast on two occasions, with Basil Gunasekera, the Navy chief. Thilo spent one night in each of the historic lighthouses, which are equipped and maintained like ships.

To get to these was itself an adventure: first by rowing boat from the beach at Kirinda to a Navy ship anchored in the bay, then in that vessel close to the Basses, again by rowing boat to the lighthouse, and then finally hauled up by a swivelling wooden crane, hand-operated by the two-man resident crew, to its base.

The transit can be quite tricky when the sea is rough, as it was both times. In the past it was possible to approach the lighthouses only during the short calm season in March-April, and the crews were then marooned for the best part of the year.

Resthouses

The government `resthouses’, set up by the British, formed a network throughout the island during Thilo’s early years, and generally provided good service to the traveling public. He remarks:They were usually run by a local authority, often the GA of the province, and were mostly pleasant buildings with clean and ample rooms. They often stood in fine locations, on a hill or a riverbank or the seashore.

Meals were varied and prescribed in detail by the authority. Prices were very moderate, less than Rs 10/- per day with meals. Generally the resthouse keepers were friendly, genial men, quite a few of them famous for food and service.

“I used resthouses freely, seldom staying in one of the few hotels, except at Kandy and Nuwara Eliya. Advance booking was then not necessary; when, rarely, one place was full you just drove to the next.

This happy state of affairs changed first gradually, then with increasing pace since the 1960s.

“Resthouses disappeared or became shabby and noisy pubs, even dens of vice. Buildings were put to other uses. Later some were rescued and re-appeared as cheap (not price-wise) and tastelessly over-decorated ‘hotels’ with surly personnel. The disappearance of the resthouse system as it still existed in the post-war period is regrettable.

“Among well known and frequented resthouses were those of Bentota, Belihuloya, Hambantota, Arugam Bay, Kalkudah, Vakarai, KKS, Jaffna, Polonnaruwa, Sigiriya, Pelmadulla and Negombo. Famous for seafood, especially fresh – not frozen –crab were the old resthouses at Negombo, Mannar and Jaffna.

“Some were romantic and picturesque beyond measure. The Kalkudah resthouse, covered with a thick thatch of cadjan over beautiful palmyra rafters, was situated beneath massive trees on the shore of a blue bay. Particularly charming was the resthouse at Elephant Pass. Built into the old Dutch fort, and with its large trees, it truly embellished, and stood out in, the bleak flatness of the shallow wetlands between the Chundikkulam and the Jaffna lagoons, through which runs the causeway connecting the Jaffna peninsula with the mainland.”

One late evening in the early 1950s Thilo and Mae arrived there and were assigned the last available room. During the night Mae was disturbed by a mysterious noise and movement in the room. Eventually Thilo closed the window and quiet returned. At breakfast Dr and Mrs H. A. Dirckze of Anuradhapura, who were also guests, casually informed them that the particular room was known to be haunted and thus shunned by visitors! Thilo thinks it was a bat.

The Elephant Pass fort and resthouse were severely damaged in 2000 during the battle with the LTTE. When they seized it they razed the structure to the ground. Not a trace remains of it today. The Portuguese fort at Pooneryn, too, had been badly damaged in the previous decade. Thilo, continues:

“These resthouses, just like the old temples, churches, villages and towns with their public buildings, fitted into the landscape like the key into a lock, exemplifying and accentuating the structure and atmosphere of the land. Today, unfortunately, most buildings, by themselves or collectively, are just blots on the landscape.

“Of course, not all resthouses were excellent. I remember the time at Kalpitiya when we had to flee from our rooms and spend the night in the car as the beds were teeming with bedbugs. At Matara and Weligama the beds were defective and the matresses bumpy, comparable to a potholed road. But on the whole resthouses were just right, and gave good value for money, which you can say for few hotels today.

“An unusual place was the resthouse on the Horton Plains, a very remote and lonely area in those days, especially in bad weather. It was accessible only on foot or horseback. The building had been put up in the late 19th century by Thomas Farr of North Cove Estate, Bogawantalawa as a hunting lodge. Farr was a famous ‘elk’ (sambhur) hunter. A fine stag would be chased over the plains by a pack of dogs, cornered and surrounded, then despatched by the hunter with a knife. This sport, called ‘running to hounds,’ was continued until the middle of the last century.

“The building then became a resthouse under the GA of Nuwara Eliya, and was mainly used by trout fishermen. In the 1970s Harold Peiris acquired it and named it Farr Inn. Still later the Ceylon Hotels Corporation took it over. Today it is a visitor centre of the Department of Wildlife Conservation. As a resthouse it never was a comfortable place. The beds were bumpy and damp, in an all-pervading cold and musty atmosphere.”

We might note here that in the early 20th century the open patanas of Uva formed the background of another peculiar British tradition: fox hunting. Not far from Gurutalawa the Erabedda Hunt had its clubhouse, stables and kennels. On horseback ladies and gentlemen in full dress, with topee (solar helmet), would chase ‘foxes’ (jackals), riding behind large packs of dogs. Today the old clubhouse is the bungalow of Mickelfield Farm, and the patanas are settled and cultivated. The jackals disappeared from the area long ago.

On and off road

Thilo has always been a fast driver, but he has never had a serious accident. In 1947 his first long drive with the new MG was a trip to Jaffna, around the Peninsula and back to Elephant Pass via Nakarkovil. A thrown-up stone had damaged the oil pipe of the car and it just managed to get to Anuradhapura at nightfall. There one of those tinkering jobs for which Ceylon was rightly famous was carried out, and made the return to Colombo possible.

After the MG TC and a Chevrolet cabriolet, Thilo owned an “uncomfortable” early Volkswagen Beetle, and subsequently various models of Peugeot cars. The first was a 403. He fitted this with a Swiss Motosacoche supercharger, which was engaged by pressing a button, and produced “a satisfying whine”. Many drivers of faster models of cars were surprised when it overtook them. Thereafter, he stuck to Peugeots, finding them eminently suitable for the rough conditions of use in Sri Lanka, with small adjustments, such as Koni shock-absorbers and protection against knocks from below. The last such car was a 504, which he bought in 1972, and drove till very recently.

Thilo also had a Land Rover Series I, maintained in fine condition like his other vehicles. It was specially outfitted for exploring in tough situations. There was a snorkel to the exhaust for deep water and, most important, a powerful winch. Axe, mammoties, strong 100-foot nylon ropes, katties, other tools, and spare parts were always on board.

Many times he found himself so immobilized in deep mud or sand that the chassis had to be dug out, and materials for the wheels to grip found and laid, before the jeep could be moved forward or back.Worst were the tracks created by the tall-wheeled bullock carts used in Eastern jungles and plains. In dry weather the ridge in the middle of the track became stone-hard. One had to drive with two wheels on this and the other two up across one of the ruts on either side. Sometimes the vehicle would slip sideways and lie on the ridge with all four wheels off the ground. There were only two options. If a strong tree was within reach of the rope the winch could be used. If not the middle and sides of the track had to be cut away in hours of dirty, hot, uncomfortable work.

When all else failed help had to be found, sometimes from great distances away. It needed up to 20 men or a tractor to get a truly struck jeep on to safe ground. Thilo recalls an incident where in the absence of men from the village a dozen strong women cheerfully came to the rescue. They were, of course, recompensed for their labour.In the late 1960s and 70s the villagers along the road to Wilpattu National Park used to flood the untarred road during the rainy season. This made it impossible to reach the Park in any kind of vehicle without their help, for which (from the few Park visitors) they collected a kind of toll!

Yet possibly the wildest drive Thilo undertook was in 1994 when he managed to coax his 18-year-old Peugeot 504 up from Arawa to the Uva Estate tea factory. Now demolished, this was one of the country’s most prominently visible buildings, at the abrupt northern end of the Madulsima mountain range, overlooking the wide valley of the Mahaweli.

The ascent is more than 3,000 feet over a distance of barely three miles. Had he got stuck on this incline, which he risked throughout, he would have had to abandon the car, as there was no turning back. His friend Guido Baumann preferred to walk – and was overtaken by a sturdy woman carrying a calf on her shoulders up that slope! Thilo embarked on this seemingly foolhardy adventure because, for decades, the official road map showed a motorable road there. (Reports about this and other errors brought no response from the Survey Department.)

During the insurgency of 1972 Thilo undertook some extensive trips. Never before or after was driving in the country so easy. Due to fear the roads were empty not only of vehicles, but also of people, and even cattle and dogs. He drove to Monaragala and explored the mountain range there. He also paid several visits to Palugaswewa Estate to support the Superintendent and staff during that difficult period.

In other countries

The Hoffmanns travelled mostly in Asia, apart from spending regular leave in Switzerland, at first once in four years, later two. The destinations preferred by them were India and Nepal, also Australia, Singapore, Hong Kong, Indonesia and Thailand. In Africa, they visited Egypt several times, and Namibia and Botswana once. On two occasions they flew to the Maldives, well before, in Thilo’s words, “an overbearing tourist industry destroyed its unique charms.”

Mae was greatly attracted by Bombay, with its bustling life and the shopping opportunities not only of Indian textiles and handmade articles, but also of antiques, jewellery, books and artifacts of copper, iron, brass and silver, which were often museum pieces. She was especially fascinated by the original ‘Chor Bazaar’ (‘Thieves’ Market’), with its hundreds of stalls in small by-roads and ancient buildings where second-hand goods of all kinds were heaped up for sale. Later, says Thilo, the stalls were turned into shops that became fashionable and air-conditioned, with prices going up accordingly, and the bazaar lost the genuine aura of a `thieves’ market’.

Thilo is a life member of the Bombay Natural History Society, which he visited on several occasions. He knew Salim Ali, the famous ornithologist, quite well and joined several excursions led by him, and a seminar at Periyar in Tamil Nadu. He also knew Ali’s famous colleague S. Dillon Ripley, from the USA.

For the centenary celebrations of the BNHS in 1976 the Hoffmanns arrived at Bombay airport around midnight. As a result of the stringent exchange control in Sri Lanka at the time they did not have a cent in their pockets! The Taj Mahal Hotel failed to send a car for them though they had ordered one. They were stranded at the airport, not even able to use a telephone. Someone took pity on them, advanced them the cost of a taxi, and they had a bed for the night.

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Features

Sri Lanka’s rice conundrum: Time to stop managing crises and start fixing the system

Published

13 hours ago

2026/09/4

Thilina Walpola

Prof. Ranjith Senaratne,
Emeritus Professor in Crop Science and former Vice-Chancellor,
University of Ruhuna and General President of the Sri Lanka Association for the Advancement of Science (2023) and
Prof. Prasad Jayaweera,
Dean, Faculty of Computing, University of Sri Jayawardenapura

Rice is not merely another crop in Sri Lanka. It is our staple food, an integral part of our history and culture, and a foundation of the civilisation that flourished around our ancient hydraulic systems. Revered as Buddha Bhogaya, the Buddha’s crop, rice has sustained our people for more than two millennia. Yet, remarkably, a country with such a profound relationship with rice continues to lurch from one rice crisis to another.

At one time, we have a surplus. At another, we face shortages. Prices rise sharply, consumers complain, farmers struggle to obtain remunerative prices, millers and traders become the focus of public attention, imports are hurriedly arranged, and governments announce yet another set of measures to contain the crisis. Then, after the immediate problem subsides, the matter recedes from the national agenda, until the next crisis arrives.

Why does this keep happening despite decades of agricultural research, policy interventions, expert committees and public debate?

Perhaps because we have been asking the wrong question. The fundamental problem is not simply how to produce more rice. Nor is it merely a question of prices, imports, fertiliser, farmers, millers or markets. The rice conundrum is a complex national systems problem.

We cannot solve a system by fixing its parts in isolation

Sri Lanka’s rice sector is an intricate web of interconnected systems involving agriculture, land, water, climate, technology, finance, energy, transport, markets, trade, governance, institutions and consumer behaviour. A decision made in one part of this system can have consequences, sometimes unintended, in another.

A change in fertiliser policy, for example, can affect productivity and production costs, which in turn influence farmer profitability, market prices and the need for imports. Irrigation decisions affect not only production, but also water availability, energy use and environmental sustainability. Guaranteed prices influence farmers’ cropping decisions, while import policies can simultaneously protect consumers and weaken incentives for domestic production. Likewise, market concentration can affect both the price received by farmers and the price paid by consumers. This is precisely why isolated interventions so often produce disappointing results. We keep treating symptoms while leaving the underlying system largely untouched.

For decades, we have generated valuable scientific knowledge on individual aspects of rice production and marketing. But knowledge generated within disciplinary and institutional silos does not automatically translate into solutions to complex real-world problems. What is needed now is a fundamentally different way of thinking.

From a “rice crop” to a “rice system”

The first step is to stop looking at rice simply as something that is grown in a paddy field.

The rice system begins with land, water, seed, inputs, technology and finance. It extends through cultivation, harvesting, drying, milling, storage, transport, wholesale and retail marketing, and finally to the consumer’s table. At every stage, there are different interests, incentives, constraints and actors: farmers, farmer organisations, input suppliers, machinery operators, millers, traders, wholesalers, retailers, financial institutions, government agencies, researchers and consumers.

And hovering over the entire system are climate change, changing consumer preferences, technological transformation and national economic conditions. A weakness anywhere in this chain can compromise the performance of the whole system.

Consider post-harvest losses. If significant quantities of rice are lost because of inadequate drying, storage or processing facilities, increasing production alone cannot solve the problem. Similarly, if farmers produce efficiently but face weak markets and poor bargaining power, productivity gains may not translate into improved livelihoods.

The question, therefore, should not be “How much rice can we produce?” but “How can we make the entire rice system work better?”

That requires us to see the connections.

The missing ingredient: reliable, real-time information

There is another fundamental weakness that deserves urgent attention: we still lack a comprehensive, integrated, interoperable and reliable national information system for rice. Information is scattered among different institutions, often collected using different methodologies and not necessarily available when decisions need to be made.

How much rice will actually be produced? How much is in storage? What is the likely demand? Where are the emerging production shortfalls? What are the stocks held by different actors? How are prices moving along the value chain? What are the likely consequences of climate conditions? Without timely and reliable answers to such questions, policymakers are forced to make critical decisions with incomplete information. This is not merely an administrative inconvenience. It is a national food-security vulnerability.

Sri Lanka should therefore seriously consider establishing a National Rice Intelligence and Decision Support System (NRIDSS), an integrated digital platform that brings together relevant real-time information from agriculture, meteorology, irrigation, markets, trade, statistics and other institutions. Such a system could support production forecasting, market monitoring, import decisions, early warning and evidence-based policy formulation. In an increasingly uncertain climate and volatile global economy, this should no longer be regarded as a luxury. It is becoming an essential component of national food-system governance.

The deeper problems cannot be ignored

A systems approach would also force us to confront some uncomfortable structural realities. Why does productivity remain relatively low despite decades of research? Why are so many holdings too small to achieve economies of scale? Why are modern technologies and precision agriculture not being adopted more rapidly? Why do farmers often have limited bargaining power? Why do substantial losses occur after harvesting? Why can market power become concentrated in a relatively small number of actors? Why are guaranteed prices sometimes announced too late to influence farmers’ production decisions? Why are policy interventions so often reactive rather than proactive? And how will droughts, floods, temperature extremes, changing rainfall patterns and emerging pests affect the stability of rice production in the years ahead? These are not separate questions. They are parts of the same system.

From crisis management to systems governance

Sri Lanka does not need another isolated discussion about rice. What is needed is a national policy dialogue and action forum that brings all relevant actors together, not merely to exchange speeches, but to develop a shared understanding of the system and agree on what needs to be done. Such collaboration must go beyond consultation or the exchange of views. The different parties need to work together from problem definition through to implementation, bringing their diverse knowledge, perspectives, interests and practical experience into a common process.

Farmers bring contextual and experiential knowledge; industry actors understand market realities and operational constraints; scientists contribute evidence and analytical capabilities; policymakers bring institutional and regulatory perspectives; while technology and data specialists can provide new tools for understanding and managing the system. When these different perspectives are brought together systematically, they can reveal interdependencies, challenge assumptions, identify feasible interventions and generate solutions that are evidence-based, practically implementable and socially acceptable.

This is the essence of a transdisciplinary systems approach: not simply working across disciplines, but bringing together multiple stakeholders and multiple forms of knowledge to co-create solutions and share responsibility for outcomes. The process should therefore go beyond presentations and speeches. It should involve systems mapping, causal analysis, stakeholder dialogue, scenario planning and the participatory identification of the critical bottlenecks and leverage points in the rice system. Most importantly, it should distinguish between what is urgent and what is important, and between interventions that merely alleviate symptoms and those capable of changing the underlying behaviour of the system itself.

We need an implementation roadmap, not another report

There is, however, one important caveat. Sri Lanka has no shortage of reports, recommendations and policy documents. What we often lack is sustained implementation. Any national initiative on the rice conundrum must therefore end not with another set of broad recommendations but with a prioritised national action roadmap. It should identify short-, medium- and long-term actions, assign institutional responsibilities, establish timelines and define measurable indicators of progress. The ultimate objective should be to move Sri Lanka from reactive crisis management to proactive systems governance.

A national opportunity

The rice conundrum may, in fact, provide Sri Lanka with an opportunity that extends well beyond rice to deal with other important crops. If we can demonstrate that a complex national problem can be addressed by bringing together science, policy, stakeholder knowledge, real-time information and systems thinking, the approach could become a model for addressing other persistent challenges, from climate resilience and water security to energy, food systems and disaster risk.

The choice before us is therefore quite stark. We can continue responding to each rice crisis as it emerges, adjusting prices, arranging imports, appealing to millers, reassuring consumers and supporting farmers, only to repeat the cycle later. Or we can step back and ask a more fundamental question:

What is it about the way our rice system is structured and governed that continually produces these crises?

That is the question that needs to be answered. Sri Lanka has the scientific expertise, institutional capacity and stakeholder knowledge required to do so. What is needed now is the willingness to bring these fragmented sources of knowledge together and examine the rice sector as one interconnected system.

Our ancient civilisation understood the importance of interconnectedness: land, water, agriculture and society were organised as parts of a larger whole. Perhaps, in confronting the modern rice conundrum, we need to rediscover that systems wisdom, this time supported by modern science, technology, real-time data and transdisciplinary thinking. The time has come to stop merely managing the rice crisis. It is time to fix the system that keeps producing it.

It is against this backdrop that the Sri Lanka Association for the Advancement of Science (SLAAS) proposes to convene shortly a “National Policy Dialogue and Action Forum on the Rice Conundrum in Sri Lanka”, bringing together the key stakeholders across the rice system. The Forum is intended to provide a platform for moving beyond piecemeal and reactive interventions towards a coordinated, evidence-based and transdisciplinary systems approach, one capable of generating lasting and pragmatic solutions to what has become an “island-shaking national issue”.

Features

This curse of partisan politics in Sri Lanka

Published

13 hours ago

2026/09/4

Thilina Walpola

78 Years of Demagoguery, Not Democracy

by Brigadier Ranjan de Silva
rpcdesilva@gmail.com

On the 4th of February every year, we raise the lion flag and speak of democracy. We speak of 78 years of “self-rule.” But honesty demands we ask: what kind of rule have we actually had? It was not democracy. Democracy is government for the common good, constrained by law, informed by reason, and accountable to truth.

What Sri Lanka has had for 78 years is demagoguery — government by manipulation, by party, and by passion.

Defining the Curse:

The dictionary defines demagoguery as “political activity that seeks support by appealing to the desires and prejudices of ordinary people rather than by rational argument.” Its tools are simple: divide the people, promise the impossible, demonize the opponent, and govern for the next election, not the next generation. That is the political culture we inherited in 1948 and perfected since.

78 Years of Evidence:

The record is not ambiguous. Policy by Pendulum – 1948–2024. Instead of a national development plan, we got a partisan wrecking ball. 1956: The “Sinhala Only Act” was passed not after linguistic study, but as an election mobilization tool. 1970-77: The SLFP nationalized private enterprise and imposed import controls. 1977: The UNP reversed course with an open economy overnight. 2005-2014: Mega infrastructure was built on Chinese loans with no feasibility transparency. 2015-2019: Those same projects were called “white elephants” and stalled. 2020-2021: The organic fertilizer ban was announced as a populist “green” policy, reversed 6 months later after it collapsed agriculture and food prices. The Colombo Port City, Hambantota Port, and the Central Expressway all followed the same pattern: started, stopped, rebranded. The country pays twice. The party takes credit once. Economics as Election Candy. Demagoguery is expensive. 1960s: Subsidized rice to win rural votes, leading to the 1971 food crisis.

2005-2014:

Fuel subsidies and public sector hiring sprees that doubled the wage bill. 2019:

Unfunded tax cuts that removed Rs. 500 billion in annual revenue with no offset. By April 2022, external debt hit $51 Billion and we defaulted for the first time. The party that cut taxes was not in power to manage the IMF program. The party that inherited it was blamed for the austerity. This is the cycle. Institutions captured. A democracy needs referees. We turned them into party cadres. The 17th Amendment 2001 created independent commissions. The 18th Amendment 2010 abolished them. The 19th 2015 restored them. The 20th 2020 gutted them again. Police transfers, university vice-chancellors, and state bank chairmen have all been decided by party headquarters, not merit.

When the institution serves the party, the citizen gets leftovers.

Identity over Ideas: From 1956 to 1983 to 2009 to 2022, our elections have been won on fear, not spreadsheets. “They will erase your language.” “They will sell the country.” “Only we can protect Buddhism/the minorities/the nation.”

Rational debate on debt, productivity, or climate adaptation never wins a rally. Prejudice does. That is demagoguery by definition.

Party Interest subverted the National Interest. The core damage of 78 years of partisan politics is this: the nation became secondary to the party. Need power sector reform? Impossible, because our unions will strike. Need to cut 300,000 ghost employees? Impossible, because our voters will defect. Need a 20-year education and export plan? Impossible, because it won’t show results before the next election. So, we borrowed. We patched. We lied. The result: a railway system that still runs on 1950s engines, hospitals without paracetamol in 2022, and a brain drain of 300,000+ skilled workers since the crisis. The parties rotated. The country declined.

The Opposition’s Original Sin and here, all parties share guilt equally. In opposition, the job is not to govern. It is to destroy. The UNP in the 60s called the SLFP “communist.” The SLFP in the 70s called the UNP “imperialist.” The JVP called both “traitors.” The SJB, SLPP, and NPP today use the same script with new logos. Every tax is “anti-people.” Every reform is “a sell-out.” Every crisis is proof the other side is evil and must be removed at any cost. Then they win. And implement 80% of what they opposed. Because demagoguery has no principles, only positions. 78 years of unmerciful, bad-faith criticism has not produced accountability. It has produced cynicism. The public now believes all politicians are the same — because for 78 years, they have behaved the same.

Breaking the Curse:

Changing the party in power will not end this. We must change the incentives that reward demagoguery. Three reforms are non-negotiable: Bind future Parliaments to national policy. Pass 10-year frameworks for energy, education, and public debt with 2/3 majority protection. Infrastructure and fiscal rules should outlast one government, as they do in Chile and New Zealand. Depoliticize the state. Independent commissions for police, elections, public service, and bribery must have constitutional budgets and appointment panels that exclude MPs. No more 18th/20th Amendment style rollbacks. Demand better from voters We must stop rewarding the best slogan and start demanding the best spreadsheet. Town halls over rallies. Costings over promises. A 5-year plan over a 5-minute speech.

In 1948, we did not inherit democracy. We inherited an election. For 78 years we have used that election to choose our favourite demagogue. The prize has been debt, division, and decay. The curse of partisan politics will only end when citizens and leaders agree on one principle: Party second. Country first. Until then, February 4th will remain a ceremony, not a celebration.

Features

Developing markets for fruits, vegetables and flowers in the Gulf

Published

13 hours ago

2026/09/4

Thilina Walpola

Image courtesy Export Development Board)

Export diversification – Missing the wood for the trees – Part II

by Gomi Senadhira

Sri Lanka established its diplomatic presence in the Gulf region only in the early 1980s. First, a small embassy was opened in Abu Dhabi, covering the UAE. Then in 1982, embassies were opened in Jeddah and Kuwait. The embassy in Jeddah covered Saudi Arabia while Kuwait was responsible for Kuwait, Oman, Qatar and Bahrain. Commercial Diplomats were also assigned to these two embassies. A senior private sector executive, with experience in marketing, was posted to Jedda as the commercial counsellor. I was posted to Kuwait as a second secretary (Commercial). Our instructions were very clear. Focus not only on traditional exports. Product diversification was a priority.

Developing Markets for Agricultural Products

At that time, Minister Lalith Athulathmudali had just launched his Export Production Villages (EPV) programme. He believed that the EPVs working closely with the exporters would provide an ideal opportunity for rural households to directly benefit from the government’s new open trade policy. Agricultural products, particularly fruits and vegetables, were a key component of this approach and the ministry thought that the Gulf countries, with large Sri Lankan communities, would have a ready-made market for these items. Thus, from day one we were compelled to explore the market for nontraditional exports; fruits and vegetables (F&Vs) were on the top of our priority list.

From cane baskets to cardboard boxes

Fortunately, the market for the F&Vs products in the region was at a very early stage of development. That provided an opportunity for Sri Lankan exporters, who were also inexperienced, to work with the importers and grow together. For example, in Kuwait, one of our first customers for F&Vs was a small supermarket where the manager was a Sri Lankan. After the first shipment arrived, he invited me to inspect the shipment. I visited the supermarket and was shocked by what I saw. While produce from other countries was packed nicely in cardboard boxes, our packaging mirrored transport to Manning market, cane baskets! As a result, fresh produce had suffered significant damage. A long report, with photographs, to the trade ministry produced an immediate response. After all, this was a pet project of the Minister. Within weeks, shipments were packed in cardboard boxes. Immediately afterwards, an expert on packaging from the Commonwealth Secretariat was sent to Kuwait with an official from the EDB to study the problem.

By then, we had also managed to develop a friendship with the management of the Salmiya supermarket, a large upmarket supermarket patronised by wealthy Kuwaitis and expats. It was a cooperative and the chairman was a Kuwaiti public servant. I could only meet him after 6 PM when his large office functioned as a diwaniya, a cherished cultural space in Kuwaiti society. Guests moved in and out the room. I had to spend time with them sipping many cups of tea. Though that meant at least two hours on each visit, it helped greatly to develop a close relationship. The general manager was an efficient and friendly Palestinian. After many visits we had succeeded in getting an order for F&Vs. The day after the first shipment arrived, I got an urgent call from the GM to come and inspect it. Once again, I was in for a surprise. Inside the cold room, the consignments from other countries were stacked neatly on top of each other, while vegetable boxes from Sri Lanka had collapsed once placed on top of each other, crushing the produce within.

Fortunately, our packaging experts arrived in Kuwait soon after this incident. They spent two days in the Salmiya Supermarket, studying the packaging from other origins. We were also successful in assuring the GM our packaging would improve. After that, packaging improved and exports moved smoothly. With that, Sri Lanka emerged as a small but reliable supplier to the mainstream market, not just the ethnic segment of the market.

Export of Fresh Vegetables by Sea

Towards the end of my tour, a Sri Lankan businessman requested me to find a buyer for cabbages, which he was prepared to export in large quantities by sea. I introduced him to the largest fruit and vegetable importer in Kuwait. Their regular suppliers of similar vegetables were Jordan, Lebanon and Syria. Luckily, the company was keen to diversify the supply sources. A few weeks later, the first container load of cabbages from Sri Lanka arrived in Kuwait. Immediately after the arrival of the container, I visited the company. They were pleased with the quality and the price and were looking forward to importing more fruits and vegetables. Unfortunately, that turned out to be a one-off event. Later on, when I was back in Sri Lanka, the exporter informed me that he couldn’t continue with it due to the problems with the local supply chains.

Floriculture

During the period I was asked by the EDB to explore the market for floricultural products, more particularly for cut flowers. At that time Kuwait was a relatively large importer of cut flowers and live plants. The main suppliers were the Netherlands and Colombia. Importers were also reluctant to move out of the established supply chain, particularly due to “snob value” associated with the product from Europe. However, after some difficulties, one importer agreed to place a pre-paid trial order. After the arrival of that shipment, he was impressed by the quality of the product and the orders expanded rapidly. As a result, by the end of 1985 Kuwait had become a major buyer of Sri Lanka’s floricultural products.

From village to global markets

As a result of the proactive promotional work undertaken by the EDB and the embassies in the region, by 1985, Sri Lanka had managed to acquire a small but significant share of the F&V and floriculture markets in the GCC countries. We had also identified domestic supply chain issues that hindered exports. All that was done, long before Southeast Asian or African countries even entered into that market. In fact, my Southeast Asian colleagues used to contact me often to reserve “durian” for them at the “Sri Lankan supermarket”.

Most importantly, a substantially large share of produce from Sri Lanka in Kuwaiti supermarkets originated in the EPVs. Of course, that didn’t just happen. The ministry (or the minister) using the carrot and stick approach “encouraged” exporters to buy the produce directly from the newly established EPVs. (The writer can be reached at senadhiragomi@gmail.com)