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Possession is Nine-Tenths of the Law – Land Disputes in the Mahaweli

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by Jayantha Perera

I joined Development Alternatives Inc. (DAI), a US development agency, in 1988 after serving the Sri Lankan government for 15 years. I left the government service because of political and bureaucratic meddling in research administration. The DAI recruited me as the resident water-user organisation specialist of the Mahaweli Agricultural Rural Development (MARD) Project, funded by USAID, in the Mahaweli System B Region.

The DAI was a good employer, and it gave me a well-furnished bungalow at Aralagawila (four miles from Dimbulagala) and a brand-new Pajero Jeep. I was happy to be away from Colombo after the difficult times with politicians and bureaucrats. Also, I was excited to move from doing research to project planning and implementation.

There are two categories of residents in the Mahaweli area. The first is purana (old) villagers who have been in the area for generations. They claimed a right to own and cultivate their ancestral land. The second category is migrants and re-settlers who arrived as waves of landless households from congested villages and urban areas outside, especially from the Wet Zone.

The first group resented the second group and complained that they had brought vices such as gambling and liquor consumption into the area. They also claimed village life was previously characterised by cooperation, peace, friendship, and decent living. On the other hand, the new arrivals considered the purana villagers to be baiyo (backward) and a superstitious lot. Some of them thought that they were veddhas (aboriginals).

The Mahaweli development project, initiated in the 1970s, had its own administrative structure. The project had several ‘Systems,’ such as Systems H, B, and C. The Resident Project Manager (RPM) governed a System with several deputy resident project managers, unit managers, and specialists in water management, engineering, crop diversification, and agricultural extension. The RPM held the status of an additional Government Agent in the district.

The RPM of the Mahaweli B System was my contemporary at Peradeniya University, and I knew him well. When I visited him at his office in Welikanda, a villager barged into the office to complain his land issue still needed to be resolved. The RPM asked him to sit down, served him tea, and promised to set up a land kachcheri to determine his land issue. After the villager left, the RPM asked me whether I could assist him in resolving the case.

I talked to the DAI’s Chief-of-party about the invitation. He was happy I had been invited to settle a land matter. The RPM requested the Mahaweli Land Officer, grama sevaka and several other officials to attend the land kachcheri at the villager’s homestead.

When I arrived with the Land Officer at the farmer’s kadulla (fence gate), several Mahaweli project officials and the grama seveka were waiting for us. The homestead was about quarter acre of land. A small wattle and daub house with corrugated tin-sheet roof was in the middle of the homestead. It did not have a veranda. There were lime, guava, and papaya trees in the homestead. A bullock cart was at a corner of the homestead. I sat on one of the two bo leeya (beams) that connected the cart’s main body to its yoke.

As no one had left the house, I walked to its backyard. From there, I could see barren land full of weeds. I could hardly identify niyara (ridges) of abandoned rice fields. I saw a man in the field trying to remove the branches of a fallen tree. I asked him about rice cultivation. He said he could not cultivate rice because of the failure of the northeast monsoons. Then he smiled and said, “If we cultivate rice, we cannot harvest a yield because roaming wild elephants destroy the cultivation in a few minutes.” I asked him about his plans. He smiled and said he expected a piece of land from the Mahaweli with irrigation facilities in the area.

It was a hot day, and the sun was shining over us. A cool breeze kept us comfortable. I returned to the Land Officer and checked the correspondence file and the plot’s land plan. He told me that the villager who had complained had no right to live on the plot and cultivate the land behind his house. He opined that the farmer should leave the land, enabling the Mahaweli to build a tertiary irrigation canal to irrigate about 50 acres of rainfed land.

We waited for the farmer to come out of the house. Meanwhile, an officer offered me tea in a ceramic cup. He had brought the tea from home in a flask. Another officer offered me biscuits. I asked those standing in the compound to sit behind me on the other beam of the cart, but they preferred to stay standing.

We heard some noise from the house. Suddenly, a woman came out of it. She walked up to me and started telling me her grievances. She and her husband were purana villagers and were born in this area long before the Mahaweli project was started. They cleared thick jungles more than 40 years before, built a house, and cultivated rice during the rainy season and other field crops during the dry season. They had one daughter who had left them on diga (patrilocal) marriage and moved to her husband’s house in a nearby purana village.

The woman said her husband had requested permission and assistance from the Mahaweli Authority to stay in the homestead and convert the field behind their house into an irrigated rice land. She pointed out that her husband had an LDO (Land Development Ordinance) land permit, issued many years ago by the Government Agent (GA) of Polonnaruwa, and had paid annual Idam badu (land tax).

I asked her to show me the land permit and annual payment receipts. She went to the house and brought several documents in a plastic bag. An officer standing next to me grabbed the bag from the woman and checked it before passing it on to me. There was an annual temporary land permit. However, after 1972, a receipt was absent to show the annual permit renewal. Having scrutinised the permit and receipts, I asked the woman, “Where is your husband?”

“Oh, he is not at home,” she replied.

“But he knew about the land kachcheri?” I pointed out. She kept quiet.

“Where are the land permits and the receipts after 1972,” I inquired.

“After 1972, the Government Agent did not renew the permit,” she answered.

“Why?” I asked her.

She said, ” He informed us through our grama seveka to leave the house and land as the government planned to build a big project in the area.”

“Why didn’t you and your husband move out?” I inquired.

She raised her voice and snapped at me, “Where can we go? This is our land. We want to live here and die here.”

“‘But the certificate says this is an LDO land, which means the land belongs to the government,” I pointed out.

“But we have lived here for forty years. A relative told us that the land would become our sinnakkara (freehold) property if we lived on the land plot for 25 years or more,” she replied.

I told her, “That rule does not apply to government land. As you don’t have a land permit, you are an illegal occupant of the land.” I asked her, “Do you know that rule?”

“But we are not illegal occupants. You can ask the Buddhist monk at the temple about us. He will vouch we have lived on this land for half a century,” she shouted.

I asked her, “Did you or your husband receive a letter from the RPM about this land three months ago?”

“Which letter?” She wanted to know.

I showed the woman a copy of the letter in the file and explained its contents. The RPM stated that the Mahaweli Authority would consider giving them a piece of land elsewhere when they leave the occupied land.

She said, “We do not trust the government. This is a plan to seize our house and land and to throw us onto the road. We know your plan. You want to give our ancestral land to outsiders.”

The village headman intervened. “Sir, they are notorious thugs who are engaged in the ganja business in the area. The Police know them and their activities. This woman’s husband should be in prison, not in the Mahaweli.”

The woman cried and prayed to her village god, asking him to strike us with a henayak (thunderbolt). Suddenly, a bare-chested man in a sarong bolted out of the house with a sword. He was threatening that he would kill anybody who trespassed on his property. I could not run as I had to jump over the beam I was sitting on. With difficulty, I cleared it only to be confronted by the other beam of the cart. Then I heard him screaming. I turned back.

The man was carrying a long, black, rusty sword. I was between the two beams, and he was approaching the first beam. He screamed again and struck the first beam with his sword. Then he ran back to the house. I looked around and found that the officers, including the grama seveka, had vanished. A little later, they returned and asked me whether I was okay. I smiled and told them that we should continue with the inquiry.

We waited ten minutes, and the officer who had offered me tea earlier gave me another cup. The man who had threatened to kill us a little while ago returned wearing a shirt and a sarong and without his sword. He walked directly to me, worshipped my feet, and begged me to pardon him for his emotional and erratic behaviour. I asked him to sit next to me, but he sat on the ground before me.

“Why do you refuse to move out of the land?” I asked him.

“We will move out only if we get an irrigated land parcel like resettlers,” he said meekly.

“Why haven’t you allowed the officials to survey the homestead?”

“They are hyran karayo (bullish people). I don’t like them. So why should they enter my land?” he retorted.

I asked him, “Do you know it is an offence not to allow government officials to enter the land when they are on an official duty?”

“No. Those officers should have gotten my permission first,” he answered.

“Do you know the Mahaweli Authority plans to give you a piece of land if you leave this plot soon?” I asked.

He thought for a minute. Then, he raised his voice and said, “The government is in a great hurry to bring outsiders to the area, ignoring purana people like us. Many outsiders come to our areas as farmers, rent in others’ land, become businessmen, and hire us as wage workers. Why is the government not willing to give us the same benefits?”

He calmed down and told me not to harm him for his stupid temper. He said that without being a chandiya (thug), it was challenging to live in remote jungle areas. He then revealed that he was a good friend of Podi Wije, the notorious criminal who terrorised the area a few years before. After the Police killed Podi Wije, he gave up his connections with criminals in the area and in Polonnaruwa.

I told him that thuggery does not resolve land issues, but such behaviour can harm others. He apologised again. The grama seveka intervened. “Sir, your security is my responsibility because you are now in my division. I must inform the Police about this man’s actions. If we ignore such criminal behaviour, many others like to follow him and take the law into their hands.”

I asked the Land Officer about his views on the land issue. He said, “This is a case of anawasara idam allimak (illegal land occupation).” I told him, “The farmer had obtained a land permit many years ago and had paid annual fees until the government stopped the permit renewal because it wanted the land for a public purpose. Therefore, he is neither a squatter nor an encroacher. He has developed the land with the government’s permission and, therefore, has interests in the land. He is entitled to compensation either in cash or in kind.”

I then asked the grama seveka his opinion. He labelled the farmer kota bukkitikaru (encroacher), who has expanded one’s land area by grabbing land at the boundary. I told him the label was inappropriate, as the farmer had not encroached on the government’s land but remained in the original land parcel he had temporarily received from the government. I asked him whether he had any evidence to prove his accusation. He kept quiet.

I told the farmer, “I would like to recommend to the RPM that you and your wife be given a piece of irrigated land and a homestead elsewhere in System B of the Mahaweli. I recommend you and your wife stay temporarily in this house until you build one. Please discuss your compensation package with the Land Officer.” The farmer did not say anything but stared at me blankly.

I advised the farmer to cooperate with the Mahaweli project officials when they want to survey his land and collect socio-economic data. I warned him any complaint from the officials against him could nullify the above arrangement.

He wanted us to stay for tea. We excused ourselves, saying we had another meeting, and left him. In his eyes, I saw fear and distrust.

We went back to the RPM’s office from the farmer’s land. The grama sevaka had already reached the office. He was unhappy because I had recommended that the man receive a piece of Mahaweli land. “You met him only once and decided to help him. But we have lived with him in the village for many years. He has threatened me many times and once nearly stabbed me. I think I should report the entire episode in the morning to the Police,” the grama sevaka complained. I advised him not to do so. I told him, “As the grama sevaka, you should maintain a good relationship with all villagers without trying to criminalise some of them as thugs or hooligans.” I asked him to think about the predicament of the farmer and his wife; they were scared to leave the land. I invited him to visualise how he would have reacted to a group of officials who came to take over his only piece of land and house.

I checked the draft transcript of the inquiry prepared by the clerk at the Land Office. I asked him to remove the reference to the farmer’s initial violent behaviour from the report and the references to ganja cultivation and thuggery.

Six months later, I inquired about the farmer from the Land Officer. The farmer had received an irrigated land parcel in a new Mahaweli Unit, which was not far from the LTTE and Sri Lankan Army border, where they had frequently exchanged fire. The officer smiled and told me the village headman was happy that the farmer had left his division.



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Features

Addressing human rights needs multi-pronged approach

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Volker Türk

by Jehan Perera

The ongoing 63rd session of the United Nations Human Rights Council, which runs from September 7 to October 7, 2026, in Geneva is important to Sri Lanka. Its outcome will send a signal to other international actors, including the European Union, as to whether Sri Lanka’s reform policy is on track. The written update on Sri Lanka, prepared by the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights under High Commissioner Volker Türk and presented by Deputy High Commissioner Nada Al-Nashif, has taken a more holistic approach to the government’s performance over the past year. It acknowledged the progress Sri Lanka has made under the NPP government in relation to accountability for financial fraud and other economic crimes. At the same time, the High Commissioner’s update made clear that progress in relation to economic crime cannot be equated with progress in relation to accountability for grave human rights violations committed during the armed conflict and in other periods of political violence.

The government may have felt sufficiently confident that its response to the High Commissioner’s update could be handled by its representative in Geneva and did not require the attendance of Foreign Minister Vijitha Herath. Sri Lanka’s representative Sumith Dassanayake called for a fundamental review of country-specific mandates within the UN Human Rights Council. Sri Lanka has been facing repeated scrutiny in the form of successive UNHRC resolutions from 2012 onwards. Ambassador Dassanayake argued that such mandates should not continue indefinitely and must be regularly assessed against measurable objectives and tangible outcomes. This may reflect confidence that its record of reform is beginning to receive recognition internationally. The reports and statements at the Human Rights Council acknowledged progress in the government’s efforts to address corruption and economic crime.

The government’s anti-corruption drive has included investigations into allegations involving individuals who held the highest political offices in the country. The arrest of former President Ranil Wickremesinghe in connection with alleged misuse of public funds, and the investigation into the controversial SriLankan Airlines Airbus transaction involving former President Mahinda Rajapaksa’s son, are examples of the reach of these investigations. The arrest of SLPP National Organiser and Member of Parliament Namal Rajapaksa in connection with allegations relating to the Airbus purchase scandal has also demonstrated that the government is willing to pursue cases involving politically powerful figures.

Wide Range

The ongoing investigations appear to encompass a wide range of parliamentarians and government members, both past and present. They suggest that accountability for corruption is not being confined to lower-level officials or to individuals who lack political influence. This is precisely the kind of accountability that the public has long demanded and that previous governments have too often failed to deliver. The government is also reaching into the upper levels of the military hierarchies of the past. The case in which 11 young men, most of them Tamil, disappeared after being abducted in Colombo between 2008 and 2009 involved allegations that some families were asked to pay ransoms. The investigation into this case has reached senior military figures. The willingness to pursue such cases is important because it challenges the assumption that those who exercised power during the war are beyond the reach of the law. Such cases would provide a practical test of whether the government’s commitment to accountability for economic crimes is part of a broader commitment to the rule of law.

Success in prosecuting corruption cannot substitute for justice for those who were unlawfully killed, disappeared, tortured or otherwise victimised. The UN report noted that there had been no recognition or accountability for crimes under international law, gross human rights violations and serious violations of international humanitarian law committed by all parties during the war. The government has yet to establish a credible and effective process to address the many cases of enforced disappearance, extrajudicial killing, torture and other serious violations. The government needs to take the international commitments it has inherited on human rights issues seriously. It needs to adopt a multi-pronged approach and go beyond focusing primarily on financial and corruption-related accountability.

Need Action

As a member of the international community, Sri Lanka has a responsibility to abide by the commitments it has made. It cannot selectively uphold international obligations postponing those that are politically difficult. Also, as a small country, Sri Lanka has a self-interest in ensuring the survival of international law, which is all that it has to protect it from the depredations of the bigger international actors. The erosion of international law by powerful states makes it all the more important that smaller states uphold the principles on which the international system is based. Sri Lanka cannot credibly appeal to international law when it is threatened from outside while disregarding its own obligations within. Sri Lanka also needs to win the confidence of its own population that it is committed to justice and equality for all. Public opinion polls and community-level research have disclosed that ethnic and religious minorities are appreciative of the sense of greater security they enjoy under the present government from ethnic or religious extremists.

But a sense of security is not the same as the fulfilment of rights. As far as the Tamil people are concerned, the government has yet to deliver on several of its specific promises. These include the long-standing problems of missing persons, the release of political prisoners who have been members of Tamil militant organisations, and the return of land taken over for military purposes during the war. The issue of Buddhist statues and archaeological sites found on their properties which are then taken from their control continue to trouble them especially as they see no signs of resolution of those disputes. The issue of pastureland in the east of the country in Mylathamadu is particularly concerning to them as they see orders by successive presidents, both President Ranil Wickremesinghe and President Anura Kumara Dissanayake, being disregarded on the ground. The Mylathamadu pastureland dispute is where traditional Tamil dairy farmers have engaged in multi-year protests against the ongoing encroachment of their ancestral grazing lands by Sinhalese crop cultivators relocated under government development schemes.

The government’s failure to hold Provincial Council elections is particularly troubling. The provincial council system is the only one that can provide the Tamil people and other ethnic minorities the opportunity to wield political power and exercise a measure of self-determination in the areas in which they are the numerical majority. The continued postponement of Provincial Council elections therefore has consequences that go beyond an ordinary electoral delay. It deprives communities of an important constitutional avenue for democratic participation and power-sharing. The ethnic and religious minorities appreciate what the government is doing in the larger national interest, but they must not be made to feel that their special concerns are being ignored. The government cannot resolve Sri Lanka’s entire legacy of rights violations overnight. But it does need to demonstrate that it is willing to move forward on multiple fronts, not only on a few.

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The emptying university: why are academics leaving?

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by Hasini Lecamwasam

Brain drain in Sri Lanka is at an all-time high. The latest Human Flight and Brain Drain Index for 2024 shows that we are 16th of 175 countries on this count, and first in South Asia. That this is a crisis goes without saying. Brain drain affects all sectors, and is a huge strain on the resources of a developing country. Particularly in Sri Lanka, where considerable public investment is made in the moulding of professionals through the system of free education, this amounts to transferring the resources of poorer countries to richer ones with top migration destinations. It is, therefore, important to consider the push and pull factors behind skilled outmigration, specifically from the public university system of Sri Lanka, a key focus of the Kuppi column.

From frustration to exit

Several bitter realities in our crumbling public university system act as push factors in the migration decisions of academics. Many essays on this column have, over several years, attempted to highlight numerous aspects of this erosion. Perhaps, primary among them is the lack of adequate funding, which has debilitating ramifications for the system: very little investment is made in the up-keep of infrastructure (and even less in its expansion), resulting in serious constraints in accommodating growing batches of students and the wellbeing of the staff (particularly in regional universities); research funding is negligible, severely curtailing academics’ ability to effectively discharge their primary duty of teaching which should ideally be informed by their research (and the research of others, access to which is also, unfortunately, mediated by funding); a funding crunch also means a slash in (or greater constraints on) recruitments, increasing the workloads of academics, currently in service, and eating into the quality of their teaching and research.

What recruitments are done frustrate those with any faith in merit. As many of our interventions in this column have shown, recruitment processes are characterised by archaic selection criteria that place very little weight on a candidate’s postgraduate growth and the advantages of interdisciplinary training. Added to this is the general preference for ‘culturally compliant’ candidates who would not rock the boat too much. The combined effect is that those with the capacity and spirit to try out innovations in education are discouraged from joining or staying on in the public university system. Some, or many, of them may instead seek appointments abroad.

A thread that binds all of these problems together is pervasive hierarchy which, again, many interventions on this column have sought to highlight. It is the interest in preserving hierarchy that leads to the preference for alumni in recruitment processes. Hierarchy within universities can be particularly frustrating for younger faculty and women, who typically have to bear the brunt of the workload of their senior, often male, colleagues. In a context of funding, and, therefore, recruitment, restrictions, this translates into a disproportionate burden being placed on junior (usually female) faculty, seriously hindering their prospects of growing into successful academics due to the time constraints within which they have to operate. Junior academics, therefore, are more likely to look to educational institutions abroad for what they hope would be a different work culture that respects them more.

Ideological ruses

On top of these structural frustrations are also the workings of neoliberal ideology. For one, the nature of relations between the global metropole and peripheral countries like Sri Lanka largely dictates what is desirable and what is not. The apparent lifestyles of Western countries – from food to clothing, housing, appliances, and so on – have continued to lure people from the periphery with the promise of a ‘better’ life, alongside better career advancement opportunities. This, of course, masks much of the struggle that goes on behind the scenes to survive in Western societies. For instance, in most cases highly attractive public infrastructure such as roads, public transport, clean air, quality control of food, and so on belie the astronomical privatised costs of healthcare and education. Health insurance is usually mandatory and steep in most high-income settings, while even subsidised education (for which eligibility criteria are strict) creates a serious dent in household earnings. Of course, the happy images of glossy trams and gleeful international travellers don’t convey this.

A second ideological ruse is the myth of greater opportunities and recognition abroad. While there is no denying that local skilled sectors – be it higher education, health, civil service, or private white-collar positions – are replete with issues that inhibit merit-based professional advancement, the notion that things are fundamentally different in Western countries stems from an uninformed optimism. As is now increasingly known and discussed, Western labour markets are notoriously racialised, and equivalent skills are rarely treated as such. Instead, it is usually demanded that skilled migrants clear certain formal examinations in their host countries. In fields like medicine, this is followed by an interview that may also be racially prejudiced. Once these initial steps are cleared, remuneration reverts to square one irrespective of experience accumulated abroad, not to mention the many subtle aggressions, rejections, and trials one has to go through in the negotiation of everyday life. In the many cases where professional qualifications are used as leverage for a move abroad, sights are set on a better future for one’s children, which again is informed by the misplaced faith in greater opportunities and a lack of awareness of the factors outlined above. Needless to say, in the global swing to the Right, things have become even more challenging. In such a context, considering the few rare cases where skilled migrants live extremely comfortable lives as the norm becomes a dangerous misconception.

The two ideological pull factors mentioned above are complemented by a push factor, which has to do with a highly classed understanding of what a white-collar professional is due in their society. Many of these aspirations are clearly articulated in academic trade union action demanding separate quotas for school entry, increased fuel allowances, winning back the presently stalled vehicle permit scheme, salary hikes, and so on. While working people have every right to agitate for better material conditions, insofar as it remains unconnected to a broader movement for improving the conditions of the lot of the working class, it remains self-serving and very much within the class logic of capitalist society. Since these demands are articulated as a means of maintaining distinction, it is clear that they are not envisaged as part of a class movement. The frustration of not having these needs for distinction satisfied may push some to seek greener pastures abroad, at least financially, (perhaps as a means of social mobility based on it), only to be disappointed on most occasions.

What is to be done?

Addressing the systemic push factors listed above requires, first and foremost, greater allocations for free public higher education. This would immediately translate into more recruitments and less work per academic, and better research and teaching in the long haul. An increase in funding would also ideally lead to greater infrastructural investments, especially including improving the living conditions of those who work in regional universities amid untold hardships. Next, fairer, more creative, and, therefore, more effective recruitment policies are badly needed to attract talented individuals to university positions. Rather than carving out a ‘special category’ for academics to achieve this purpose, which is informed by a classed logic, this needs to be done through fundamental reforms in recruitment processes. Third, a persistent attack on the entrenched hierarchy within universities through internal reform is much called for. Reforming recruitment practices will go a long way towards addressing this. Measures should also be taken to introduce more stringent policies against SGBV (not to mention ragging, even though it is not directly connected to brain drain). Such measures would create a safer, fairer, and more attractive workplace, which would give more reasons for people to stay.

On top of greater allocations, we also need a transformation of our aspirations themselves if this situation is to change. That necessitates a kind of education capable of questioning the ‘paradise’ conception of Western societies, and lays bare their colonial material and ideological dimensions, in both their historical and contemporary manifestations. These colonial understandings of the ‘good life’, moreover, have devastating ecological implications for the planet, not to mention social justice. An education with the ability to transform this mindset would hopefully prove to be more than a mere path to social mobility, rather being a tool of social emancipation that renders mobility moot.

(Hasini Lecamwasam is with the Department of Political Science, 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.

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Friends favourite Suzi Croner returns for Oktoberfest 2026

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Charming audiences in Switzerland as Suzi Flückiger, Sri Lanka’s own Suzi Croner is coming home… for a very special occasion.

The bubbly former frontline vocalist of 90s band Friends will take the stage at a popular venue in Colombo for Oktoberfest 2026.

Known in Europe for her country and classic hits, Suzi has remained a much-loved name back home. This will be a rare chance for local fans to see her live and celebrate the voice behind so many Friends memories.

Oktoberfest 2026 in Colombo promises an evening of live music, traditional Bavarian food and beer, colourful dirndls and lederhosen, folk dancing, and plenty of community cheer.

Suzi Croner (Flückiger)

Against this lively backdrop, Suzi will take the stage for a special solo set, featuring her own pre-recorded music. She performed at the event last year too, as a solo artiste, but a German band providing the music.

This year, however she says, it’s a different scene.

“The novel attraction will be the dancers from Germany — all girls, clad in German outfits,” Suzi said. She added that the event will also highlight the activities generally connected with Oktoberfest, which should generate a lot of fun and excitement for those who join her in Colombo next month.

Suzi has become a much-in-demand artiste in Europe, and has even performed Down Under, in Melbourne.

In Switzerland, where she has been based for the past 42 years, she continues to charm audiences with country and classic hits, performing at private events and community nights across Europe.

“My weekends are generally loaded with my work as a singer,” she said. “And I also play tennis three times a week, because I need to keep fit to entertain my audience in an active way.”

Her repertoire is made up mainly of Swiss, German and English songs.

And true to form, Suzi loves springing surprises.

“So watch out when you join me at Oktoberfest 2026, in Colombo!” she said.

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