Features
Peradeniya University in the Seventies
BY Geewananda Gunawardana, Ph.D.
Two recent articles shed much light on the Peradeniya University and the campus life in the fifties and sixties. If those were the glorious years of this fabled institution, the seventies can be considered as the decade it lost its innocence. That sounds ominous but rest assured that we the seventies generation of students did enjoy the campus life in our own way, just as our predecessors did, perhaps without the opulence.
Change is inevitable, but often it is not noticeable, especially when it is gradual. In comparison to the previous two decades, the changes of the seventies were anything but gradual and were out there for everyone to see. The song writers, novelists, and movie makers need not worry, the campus life they romanticized did continue unabated: The mist rolled down the Hantana range, trumpet flowers carpeted the grounds in April, and countless youthful heart strings got tangled as before. While the Mahaweli ran through the lush valley as it did for millennia, some transformative events took place in the backdrop and changed the campus life for many years to come.
I entered the Peradeniya University on October 4, 1969, in time to get a glimpse of the glorious era and witness it slip away under political, economic, and social calamities that burdened the entire country. At that time, there was considerable friction between the education community at large and the then Minister of Education (IMRA Iriyagolle) who was a medical student turned policeman, turned politician. It was generally believed that this minister’s actions were largely responsible for the fall of that government and the Bandaranaike coalition coming into power in 1970.
No doubt that the education circles, particularly the university community were optimistic, and they welcomed the new administration. We witnessed this cordiality when Professor K. N. Jayatilleka passed away just a month after the election: The prime minister casually walked into the senate building to pay last respects accompanied by the then IGP. No fanfare or fuss. I suspect that could have been the last time a political figure was able to walk through the Peradeniya campus without having to deploy a massive security. The goodwill did not last long, however.
When we entered, it was the University of Ceylon, Peradeniya as it has been since 1952. In 1972, when all universities were brought under the umbrella of University of Sri Lanka, it became the Peradeniya Campus. The Vice Chancellor Professor E.O.E. Pereira stepped down, and the position was replaced with a Campus President. The university crest was changed along with the motto to Vidya Dadathi Vinayam from the old Savasya Locanam Sasthrum. This was reversed in 1979 when it became the University of Peradeniya.
The centralization brought in several administrative changes that did not sit well with the campus community as it significantly impacted its autonomy. As I can remember, students had grievance against many changes that were dictated from Colombo, leading to frequent demonstrations and strikes. I doubt if there were any policy makers who had graduated form Peradeniya, or from a Sri Lankan university at that time, and that was the reason for lack of any meaningful dialogue. Furthermore, I doubt if the policymakers had any inclination to send their own children to the system either. No wonder that there was a sense of distrust on both sides and disinterest on part of the government.
The JVP was highly active in the campus at the time. The most visible signs were the meticulously painted slogans appearing overnight on pavements and on walls. The names of the residential halls were replaced with the names of some Russian revolutionary figures. Wijewardena hall became Bandaranaike Hall. In addition to the members only meetings the JVP leader held frequently, he conducted a series of lectures to packed audiences in the open-air theater. Many students attended out of curiosity.
There were rumors of preparations being made for an armed revolution, but I personally did not know anyone who took that seriously, at least until March 16, 1971. That day, we were attending an afternoon lecture when a massive explosion was heard. Running out of the theater, we could see a section of the roof of Mars Hall blown open and smoldering. Apparently, some bomb making materials that were hidden there had gone off. The army and police raided all the residential halls promptly, and a significant number of crude bombs and detonators were discovered. We considered this accident as a blessing in disguise. If not for that, the fate of the campus dwellers could have been very different during the events that followed.
A hike up the Hanthana and going to Sri Pada were two popular activities among the students. On Saturday April 3, 1971, about 15 of us, both men and women, went to Sri Pada. It was an impromptu event: take the evening train to Hatton, ride the CTB bus to Nallathanniya, and make the climb at night. See the sun rise in the morning and get back to campus the next night. It was a fun trip, an opportunity for camaraderie, having a good time, and taking a few pictures for the record if one had a camera. Romance was not ruled out; in fact, one couple got hitched on this trip.
That was my second year, and we did not get to stay in the residence halls at tat time. A friend and I were staying at a house in Getambe where the Mahanama school playground stands today. Arriving late and tired from the hike, we were going to sleep late, but our boarding master woke us up. During early morning on April 5, the JVP had attacked several police stations, a curfew had been declared, and we should leave for home ASAP, he told us.
Perhaps, he considered housing campus students a liability, with good reason. Hurriedly, we grabbed what we could and got to Peradeniya. There, we witnessed to our horror a few students being interrogated (read tortured) by the police. I managed to reach home the next day after spending the curfew night at a relative’s house in Colombo and taking a ride in the back of a lorry. However, many others were stranded as the roads were blocked at many places.
It was only after we returned to the campus months later that we learnt about their harrowing adventures. It had taken some students weeks or months to reach home, some spending time at detention camps or in hiding not knowing if they would get out alive. If we were delayed in getting back from Sri Pada on that night, our fate could have been very different. Our experiences may appear mere inconveniences compared to the events of the following decade, but that was the very first time the post-independence Sri Lanka saw the government unleashing its wrath upon its own youth.
When we returned after a three-month hiatus, it was a transformed campus. All the graffiti were gone, and the residential hall names were restored. Considering the extent of the student involvement in planning the uprising, only a small number of students failed to return. There was some evidence of violence in the campus. The blood stains resembling an injured person crawling into a room were found in a residential hall. There were several burnt patches along the road near the temple, and it was rumored that some bodies were set on fire there.
One major change after the revolt was an increase in controls over student life. Authorities, especially the law enforcement, did not look at the students favorably for a good reason. A night curfew was in place for some time. The police started patrolling the campus without being requested by campus authorities, thereby increasing the tension. Fortunately, the chief of police at Peradeniya who used to frequent the faculty club and had good relations with some of the staff, helped maintain some level of civility.
After the uprising in 1971, all students were given accommodation in campus residences. Hilda Obeysekera hall that had been a women’s residence since 1952, was converted to a men’s residence, and we were the fortunate first male occupants. Thanks to the legendary warden, Mrs. Mathiyaparanam, it had been so well maintained and looked like a three-star hotel. Manicured courtyards, clean and fully functioning bathrooms complete with bathtubs, full length mirrors, and bidets.
There were hilarious incidents reported in using this last item. Not to mention the laundry hampers in each room and the laundry service included in the hall fee. Meals were served at table complete with cutlery; food was excellent and was aplenty; and the waiting staff was there to refill the glass or the cup. It may have worked for women, but obviously, that opulence could not be maintained with young men. The sheer number of free loaders (gajaya) and the male appetite took its toll. To control the situation, a meal ticket system and rationing were introduced. Instead of dishes on the table to serve yourself from, plated food was served; but still a good portion of quality food; and seconds were available if needed.
Sri Lankan economy ran into trouble in 1974. With $ 2 billion in debt, the government could not afford to import enough food for the county’s 13 million people. Everyone had to make drastic changes, and the campus was not spared. With the food crisis that ensured, the meals at residential halls took a big hit. I recall a member of the kitchen staff saying that what we ate was of poorer quality than that of the scraps thrown away in the fifties.
The campus authorities tried their best by substituting rice with other staples, but it was not easy to stomach. To ease the situation, the immaculately maintained lawns were allowed to be cultivated, and many non-academic staff seized the opportunity. Even after the economy recovered somewhat and the food crisis eased, the quality of food in the campus continued to deteriorate and became a bone of contention. At one point, even the humble milk tea was stopped to be replaced with plain tea with a piece of jaggery, or something that resembled jaggery.
The heavy-handed management of the campuses by the Sirima Bandaranaike government caused continuous friction between the administration and students and staff alike. In November 1976, the university workers went on strike demanding some changes, which included the removal of the then Campus President. When the students decided to support the workers, the administration declared the campus closed.
Instead of leaving the campus, the students decided to stage a sit down around the senate building. A heavily armed police force of about 700 was brought in. On the morning of November 11, when the students were changing shifts, the police brutally attacked them with live bullets. Many were injured, girls were abused, and one student was shot dead. The memorial near the Jennings circle marks the spot where Weerasuriya fell mortally wounded. Even though a high-level investigation was conducted, no one was found guilty of murder. After Bandaranaike’s party was decimated at the election in 1977, campus politics took a new turn.
Along with the economic hardships, the campus upkeep also fell behind. The lack of or poor repairs contributed to the deterioration of the facilities. Once the underground power cable to the pumping station broke down and several residential halls went without water for many days. This happened during the middle of a final examination causing tremendous hardship. The addition of new books and journals to the libraries was drastically reduced. The abandoned cultivated plots turned the once elegant landscape into scrublands.
The palm trees that lined the old Galaha road bloomed signaling the end of their lives. Some thought that was an omen for more bad things to come. The only new building project I can think of was the new student center replacing the old canteen housed in the USO building, a leftover from the tea plantation days.
Thus, the seventies saw some of the notable moments of the transformative process of the campus. The luxuries of the fifties and sixties became a legend. There is no doubt that the students of the fifties would have looked upon us with pity. Young people are resilient, and we enjoyed the campus life in the seventies as much as they did in the fifties, in our own way. I am sure the fifties crowd would have never dreamed of this: After reading about a streaking incident during a cricket match in England, a bunch of guys ran naked in front of a girls’ residence hall after sunset.
Somehow, to their horror, the girls recognized them. Seeing this incident, the watcher on duty exclaimed “In the fifties, the gentlemen wore ties when they visited the ladies.” The ensuring stories circulated made our streakers’ lives a misery.
Despite the setbacks, we did our studies, learned the skills to make a living, made lifelong friendships, and some of us found our life partners. The film-soc, Wala, cultural performances, and social functions continued. In fact, it was one of the most enjoyable periods of my life. However, the thought comes if we could have done things differently.
My only regret is that we did not leave it the way the sixties people left it for us. Unfortunately, there were larger forces at work. However, there was one fifties-sixties inheritance that we could and should have done away with as a gift to the future generations: the inhumane, shameful, and utterly purposeless culture of ragging.
(The writer is a pharmaceutical consultant in the US)
Features
Forest cover loss threatens rare freshwater fish in Sinharaja streams
When discussions turn to Sri Lanka’s freshwater fish diversity and the urgent need to conserve it, attention is often focused on rivers, streams, reservoirs and water quality.
Yet scientists are increasingly finding that what happens on the land surrounding these waterways can be just as important as what happens in the water itself.
A recent study led by researcher Janamina Bandara of the Wildlife Conservation Society, Galle, together with researchers Sudath Nanayakkara and Sahan Randeniya, highlights how changes in forest cover caused by human activities can significantly influence freshwater fish populations in the hill streams surrounding the Sinharaja rainforest.
Their research sheds light on a relatively understudied aspect of tropical freshwater ecosystems—how alterations to vegetation cover, particularly through commercial cultivation such as tea and cardamom plantations, affect fish communities inhabiting headwater streams.
Hidden Riches of Tropical Streams

Forest plant saplings
Sri Lanka’s freshwater ecosystems are globally recognised for their remarkable biodiversity and high levels of endemism. However, despite their ecological significance, many ecological processes operating within these habitats remain poorly understood.
“Freshwater ecosystems in the tropics harbour extraordinary biodiversity, but many of the ecological relationships within these systems are still not fully documented,” researcher Janamina Bandara told The Island.
The study focused on sub-montane streams in the Sinharaja landscape, examining how varying levels of forest cover influence freshwater fish assemblages.
Researchers investigated whether fish communities differed between streams flowing through relatively undisturbed forests and those surrounded by modified vegetation resulting from agricultural activities.
Spotlight on a Critically Endangered Species

Leaf litter bay / Restoration activities
Particular attention was given to the critically endangered Rakwana loach (Schistura madhavai), a highly restricted endemic fish species first described from the Suriyakanda-Rakwana region.
Commonly referred to as a hill-stream loach, the species inhabits clear, fast-flowing streams and is considered highly sensitive to environmental disturbances.
According to Bandara, while broad community-level analyses did not reveal dramatic differences across all fish populations, species-specific responses painted a very different picture.
“Our findings show that Schistura madhavai exhibits a clear preference for streams flowing through intact forest habitats,” he explained. “The species becomes less common in areas where surrounding vegetation has been altered by human activities.”
Why Forests Matter to Fish
Forests bordering streams play multiple ecological roles. They regulate water temperature by providing shade, contribute organic matter that supports aquatic food webs, stabilise stream banks and help maintain water quality.
When these forests are removed or replaced with plantation crops, the resulting environmental changes can cascade through freshwater ecosystems.
Bandara noted that altered forest cover can influence water chemistry, microclimatic conditions, stream-bed composition and the availability of food resources.
“As riparian vegetation changes, a series of environmental conditions within the stream also change. Sensitive species such as Schistura madhavai appear particularly vulnerable to these shifts and may gradually disappear from modified habitats,” he said.
The research suggests that even subtle changes in habitat structure can have disproportionate impacts on species with narrow ecological requirements.
The Importance of Looking Beyond Numbers

Schistura madhavai
One of the most intriguing findings of the study is that ecosystem degradation may not always be apparent when scientists assess entire fish communities collectively.
In some instances, environmental variables appeared to have little effect on overall fish abundance or diversity. However, when individual species were examined separately, clear patterns emerged.
For example, variations in the amount of detritus—organic matter that accumulates on stream beds and serves as a vital food resource—did not significantly affect the overall fish assemblage. Yet for certain species, including habitat specialists, such changes proved critically important.
“This highlights a key conservation challenge,” Bandara said. “If we only look at total fish numbers or community-wide patterns, we may overlook serious declines occurring among environmentally sensitive species.”
Indicator Species as Ecological Sentinels
The findings underscore the importance of using so-called “indicator species” in environmental monitoring programmes.
Indicator species are organisms whose presence, absence or abundance reflects the health of an ecosystem. Because they respond rapidly to environmental change, they can provide early warnings of ecological degradation.
The Rakwana loach appears to fit this role exceptionally well.
“Species with narrow habitat requirements often act as ecological sentinels,” Bandara observed. “Monitoring them can provide a much clearer picture of ecosystem health than relying solely on broad biodiversity assessments.”
For conservation practitioners, this means that protecting sensitive endemic species may also help safeguard entire freshwater ecosystems.
Restoring Streamside Forests
Perhaps the study’s most important conservation message concerns the restoration of degraded riparian forests—the vegetation growing alongside streams and rivers.
Researchers argue that restoring these streamside habitats should be a priority in freshwater biodiversity conservation efforts.
Healthy riparian vegetation provides shade, reduces erosion, filters pollutants, enhances habitat complexity and supports the intricate ecological interactions upon which aquatic life depends.
“The restoration of degraded riparian forests is likely to be one of the most effective conservation measures for protecting freshwater biodiversity,” Bandara emphasised.
Such efforts could prove particularly valuable in landscapes where agricultural expansion has fragmented natural habitats.

Awareness sessions
A Broader Lesson for Conservation
The study offers a timely reminder that freshwater conservation cannot be achieved by focusing exclusively on water bodies themselves. The surrounding landscape matters immensely.
From the mist-laden streams flowing down the Sinharaja foothills to the countless rivulets nourishing Sri Lanka’s river systems, the fate of freshwater biodiversity is intimately linked to the health of adjacent forests.
As conservationists grapple with accelerating habitat loss and climate-related pressures, the research demonstrates that protecting and restoring forest cover may be just as important as safeguarding the streams themselves.
In the case of the elusive Rakwana loach, the message is clear: save the forest, and you may save the fish.
For Sri Lanka’s unique freshwater biodiversity, that lesson could not be more important.
By Ifham Nizam
Features
Turning Promises into Justice
Sri Lankans have reason to take satisfaction in their country’s latest international achievement. Sri Lanka has climbed 14 places in the 2026 Global Peace Index to rank 67 in the world out of 163 countries that were assessed. At a time when global peacefulness is reported to be at its lowest level since the inception of the Index, and when more countries are experiencing deterioration than improvement, Sri Lanka’s progress stands out. The ranking reflects the country’s recovery from nearly three decades of war, its efforts to strengthen political stability and public security, and its resilience in overcoming the economic and political crises of recent years. The Global Peace Index assesses the strength of institutions, societal safety and security, and the capacity of societies to manage conflict peacefully.
The challenge is to consolidate the gains that have been made and address those unresolved issues that continue to cast a shadow over the country’s future. It is in this context that two recent announcements by the government assume particular significance. Foreign Minister Vijitha Herath has announced that the Prevention of Terrorism Act (PTA), one of the most controversial laws in the country, will be repealed and replaced within two months. A report prepared by a committee appointed to make recommendations has already been handed over to him. According to the minister, the new legislation, to be known as the State Prevention of Terrorism Act, incorporates recommendations from civil society and is intended to comply with international standards on counter terrorism.
At the same time, Justice and National Integration Minister Harshana Nanayakkara has reaffirmed the government’s commitment to uncovering the truth about missing persons. During a visit to the Chemmani mass grave excavation site in Jaffna, he stated that the excavations should be completed expeditiously so that justice can be done and assured that the necessary resources have been allocated for the task. The excavations are taking place under judicial supervision with the participation of forensic experts, archaeologists, lawyers and representatives of the Office on Missing Persons. These commitments made by the government address two of the most contentious issues that have troubled Sri Lanka for decades. They also suggest that the government believes the country is now in a position to deal with difficult questions from its past rather than postpone them indefinitely.
After Breakthroughs
The timing of the pledge to repeal the PTA is particularly noteworthy. For many years successive governments promised to replace the law but failed to do so. Sri Lanka undertook to repeal it in 2017 as part of its commitments linked to retaining GSP Plus trade concessions by the European Union. Yet despite repeated assurances the law remained in force. The question therefore arises as to why the government now appears determined to act. One possible explanation is that the Easter Sunday investigations have reached a decisive stage. The investigation into the bombings that killed more than 260 people in 2019 appears to have made significant breakthroughs. If these investigations continue along their present course, it is possible that accountability will extend beyond those who directly carried out the attacks to those who may have facilitated, enabled or been part of a wider criminal conspiracy.
There is broad agreement within society that those who masterminded the dastardly Easter bombing must be held accountable and that the victims deserve the truth and justice. However, it is important that the process by which responsibility is determined is seen by the public to be fair, lawful and impartial. If those accused are convicted following a transparent judicial process that respects due process and the rule of law, the outcome is far more likely to gain acceptance across society. This is where the repeal of the PTA becomes important. A transition from a law associated with prolonged detention and exceptional powers to one that is more consistent with human rights standards would strengthen rather than weaken the legitimacy of the investigations. Accountability obtained through a process that is visibly fair will be more durable and less vulnerable to allegations of political motivation or selective justice.
The Chemmani excavations may also provide an example of how such credibility can be built. The process is taking place under judicial supervision and in full public view with the participation of independent experts. Whatever conclusions emerge, and follow up action is decided on, the process itself should command respect because it is transparent and accountable. The same principles can be applied to the Easter Sunday investigations. Public confidence is strengthened when investigations are conducted openly, when legal safeguards are respected and when the rights of both victims and accused persons are protected. The significance of these investigations may extend beyond the tragedy itself. There is likely to be an overlap between those who are eventually found responsible for the Easter Sunday conspiracy and elements of the state apparatus that exercised power during the final stages of the war.
Setting Precedent
For many years Sri Lanka has struggled to address allegations of wartime abuses. The issue has remained politically sensitive because it touches upon the conduct of those who were regarded by many as wartime heroes. Yet if the Easter Sunday investigations establish that senior officials can be investigated and held accountable when evidence warrants it, an important precedent will have been set. Once the deck is cleared through the Easter Sunday investigations and the judicial process that follows, it may become less difficult to address allegations relating to wartime abuses, including those connected to sites such as Chemmani where evidence is now being painstakingly uncovered. This would also strengthen Sri Lanka’s position internationally.
Since the end of the war in 2009, the country has remained under varying degrees of scrutiny by the United Nations Human Rights Council. In October 2025, the Council renewed the mandate of the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights to continue collecting and preserving evidence relating to past violations. The next review of Sri Lanka is due in September this year. The government now has an opportunity to demonstrate that Sri Lanka is capable of addressing difficult issues through its own institutions and according to its own democratic values. The commitments to repeal the PTA and to pursue investigations into missing persons can be seen in that light. Those who were victimized query as to what happened to their loved ones and to the information they know full well they entrusted to the government authorities and to the commissions of inquiry that were appointed. These are opportunities to show that accountability and national ownership can go hand in hand.
Reconciliation requires the difficult task of remembering truthfully. Too often Sri Lanka has sought stability by postponing difficult questions. Yet unresolved grievances do not disappear. They persist across generations and continue to shape political attitudes and communal relationships. Sri Lanka’s rise in the Global Peace Index is an achievement worth celebrating. But the true measure of peace is not only the absence of conflict. It is the presence of justice, trust and confidence in public institutions. The government’s commitments on PTA repeal, the Easter Sunday investigations and the search for truth regarding the disappeared suggest an awareness that old approaches have run their course. The government has an opportunity to break with the patterns of the past. The test now lies in implementation.
by Jehan Perera
Features
The burden, and also strength, of the critical scholar in the Humanities
The biggest part of the challenge of a critical scholar in the humanities is having to engage critically with the very realities that define her existence as a social being. She cannot even begin to comment on the focus of her study without creating shock waves that would hit her own self in some form. One could argue that the scholars in the field of the humanities are part of what is being studied in one way or another. Critical scholarship in those fields entails destabilising the ground beneath their own feet.
An essential part of scholarly inquiry is being able to objectify what is being studied and examine it closely but at a distance, that, too, in a manner that scholar’s personal biases do not affect the judgement. Any failure to comply with this requirement immediately brands the study as unscientific. To try to understand this using an example situation, I would assume that a scientist who experiments with sodium and chlorine as chemical elements have the privilege of entering the experiment without any personal and emotional ties to either of the elements, placing one element in contact with the other without having to raise questions about her own existence, and observing and recording the outcome of the experiment without having to simultaneously examine what sort of implications the outcome has had for her as a person. The findings of the experiment may certainly advance her/him in the domain of science, but it is unlikely that the outcome of the study would result in any transformation within her as a social being.
The same privilege is not available for the (critical) scholars in the humanities. What chemical elements are for the scientist, the different social, political, cultural, gender, ethnic, racial, and religious identities are for those in the humanities. What the controlled, and also largely predictable, laboratory environment is for the scientist, the uncontrolled, even erratic, society is for those in the humanities. What the scientific experiments where the composition and behaviour of the individual chemical elements are explored is for the scientist, a close examination of phenomena and topics that cut across the categories of the social, the political, the cultural, and the religious is for those in the humanities.
The relatively clear differentiation or separation that is there between the scientist’s personal space and the laboratory setting where she conducts her research is not there in the case of her counterpart in the humanities. The latter does not have a separate laboratory setting that she can step into from her personal space, as the social space, which is her site of research, has her personal space already embedded in it. The freedom that the scientist has to cut herself off from what shapes her existence as a social and political being, as she enters her laboratory, is not available for her counterpart in the humanities, for the simple reason that the social and the political, which define her life outside her research, is also at the core of what they engage with in their research. Even in a setting where the latter locks herself up in a room and cuts herself off from the rest of society, the social and the political continue to define both her perspective and the object of study. Even the most effective scientist (but may not be the ideal scientist) has the option of taking her life, defined by the social, the political, the cultural and the religious, for granted, as her success is measured purely on the basis of her scholarly output; however, even the most ineffective scholar in the humanities would have to acknowledge the nexus between her personal life and her scholarly life, explicitly or implicitly, and her engagement with the chosen object of study will entail some sort of an engagement with her existence.
To use an example from the field of language studies which my work is primarily in, New Varieties of English, like what is called Sri Lankan English, is a topic that I try to engage with in both my teaching and research. Approached from a critical point of view, Sri Lankan English as a New Variety of English is more a political category than a linguistic one. The claims that you make may be based on linguistic evidence, but the conceptualisation of a separate form of English as Sri Lankan English even on the basis of objective linguistic evidence is primarily a political claim. The creation of such a category invariably results in a reconfiguration of the linguistic terrain of the country. Every claim that is made in favour of Sri Lankan English as a category results in a certain destablilisation of Sinhala and English, which are my first language and second language respectively, and the tense relations between which two languages have shaped my identity in a fundamental way. It is not only the two languages that get shaken; the broader ethnic identities that are associated with the two languages also undergo transformation, and this transformation certainly has an impact on who/what I am.
Even when I find the case for Sri Lankan English to be convincing, I feel compelled to word the arguments carefully. This feeling of compulsion to word the arguments carefully is certainly in recognition of the need to make academically-sound arguments; however, in addition to that, it has also to do with my position outside the social class which has traditionally been seen as having proprietary rights over the language. In that setting, I am less of an academic with an objective mindset than of a strategist who is enmeshed in the ethnic and class relations that define the topic of Sri Lankan English. At the same time, in a context where one’s knowledge of English is a primary determiner of her success in society and what is predominantly valued is the so-called proper forms of English, I have had to ask myself if any claims, including the most convincing, academically-sound ones, in the direction of legitimising Sri Lankan English should not be with caution.
I have also had to reconcile between two seemingly contradictory positions involved in making a case for Sri Lankan English, especially in the context of an English Honours programme, that, too, at a leading university in the country. On the one hand, making a case for Sri Lankan English entails encouraging deviation from the established norm/s of the language; on the other hand, considering the nature of the programme, the need to require the students to make that case using a normative form of English that would be recognised internationally could not be overlooked. At one level, this seeming contradiction could easily be dismissed as hypocrisy, but a closer and more serious reading of the situation would see in it a certain “maneuvering” and “negotiating” that the scholars in the discipline of English Studies stationed in peripheral contexts like ours are constrained to undertake in their engagement with the topic at hand. Although the arguments that get made have the appearance of truth, a close analysis of those arguments would indicate a certain identity politics that is being played. This identity politics has a direct bearing on the identity of the scholar who engages with the topic.
Accordingly, to make a claim in the humanities from a critical point of view is also to question in some form what defines one’s own identity, and this may not be the most comfortable undertaking for many of us in the field. This explains, at least to a certain extent, why some scholarly engagements with history results in mere glorifications of the mainstream historical narratives; why some scholarly engagements with literature and language results in a mere celebration of the mainstream literary traditions and hegemonic languages; how some scholarly engagements with the idea of culture directly subscribe to the position that culture should always be preserved and celebrated. Such approaches leave the status-quo largely untouched, and therefore the amount of unsettling that the scholars have to deal with is minimal. How much value that they are in a position to add to the existing scholarship, of course, is a question.
Any act of critical scholarship in the field of the humanities entails the scholar having to challenge in some form what defines her personal existence. This may not be the most comfortable move to make, but that is the only way the scholar could try to make a contribution of value to the field. It is important that this dilemma that the critical scholars in the humanities have to go through is recognised for what it is.
(Nandaka Maduranga Kalugampitiya is attached to the Department of English, University of Peradeniya.)
Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies.
by Nandaka Maduranga
Kalugampitiya
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