Features

Ravana and a lost history

Published

12 months ago

2025/06/29

Thilina Walpola

Dunuvila

Book Review by Prof. Rajiva Wijesinha

Soon after I finished Ameena Hussein’s book about Ibn Battuta’s pilgrimage, I opened another that was similar in theme, though written about a period well over a thousand years prior to Ibn Battuta’s day. This was Ravana’s Lanka: The Landscape of a Lost Kingdom by Sunela Jayewardene.

The narrative of her journeys makes it clear that she is close to Ameena, for the two families have travelled together on their journeys of exploration, in the footsteps of the characters who inspired them. For Sunela there is no doubt at all that Ravana is not a mythical character, but a real king, who ruled a magnificent kingdom in Lanka long before the received history of this land, based on the Mahavamsa. She produces a whole range of evidence that more than substantiates her claim.

Even more than Ameena, understandably so for it suppressed the very basis of her argument, she takes issue with the Mahavamsa, which she notes has deliberately suppressed all evidence of a flourishing civilization in this land before Vijaya landed, around 2500 years ago. She cites example after example of sophisticated living indicated by archaeological evidence, and shows how this country was a centre of trade for ages before the simplistic narrative of a country based only on agriculture took over and suppressed all else.

The rest of the world had kept our memory alive. I had known about classical references to links with this country, but it was Sunela’s extensive research that made clear how deep these went, and how sophisticated was the world with which the west had dealt. I had known about the reputation of Lankan steel – and indeed contributed to affirming this through having persuaded the British Overseas Development Administration to fund Gill Juleff’s excavations which established the method of production – but I had not known that this reputation went back two thousand years.

I had known too of Siran Deraniyagala’s discoveries of urban dwelling at Anuradhapura well before its supposed establishment after Vijaya, but I had not known his father had suggested all this previously. Nor did I know of the extensive work done more recently by Robin Coningham, a fresh-faced youth I had been instrumental in bringing down in the early nineties, in the project we had built around Gill. Under the guidance of the redoubtable Raymond Allchin, he discovered much, which Sunela incorporates into her quietly revolutionary narrative.

The book moves through different perspectives, archaeology to begin with, with accounts of different sites, but also travels to sites the potential of which is only dimly discerned, and then collations of historical records, as well as of religious beliefs. Running through much of these is her conviction of a technologically advanced civilization, the most obvious evidence for which is the development of an irrigation system that employed skills which it took many centuries thereafter to establish on a modern scientific basis. And whereas I had known of this in terms of the systems that still function, she looks at their application to irrigation in the area between Anuradhapura and the coast around present day Mannar.

The links through irrigation, between Anuradhapura and the maritime civilization of Mannar, which Sunela describes, are subsumed in the area which is perhaps the most dramatically described in the book. She traces the outline of a large city set slightly back from the coast, which had been the focus of the trading activity of the port which had flourished around Mannar. She shows how its use was facilitated by the current flowing down past the Indian coast, and the shelter offered by Mannar island.

But she also notes how little work has been done in that area, what remains – such as the pillars of what is termed Kuveni’s palace in Wilpattu, which I saw for the first time five years ago – being left virtually untouched, not so much for conservation reasons as because finding more would upset the received history that the Mahavamsa lays down. This is nothing short of tragic, for suppression of the past is a mark of insecurity which inhibits further progress. One reason why I have admired Iran so much is that, while there is no doubt of its commitment to Islam, it celebrates its pre-Islamic past.

Sunela’s account of her explorations of stone pillars and burial sites in Wilpattu is fascinating, but so is her account of a place many miles away, Raksagala on the south east coast, which I had known nothing about previously. There lies the tomb of Arahat Mahinda who, after he had converted Devanampiya Tissa, in the well-known narrative of the Mahavamsa, retired to what had been a previously established monastery for the rest of his days. There is a vivid account of the genius of its landscaping, stairways as well as a host of well-appointed caves for meditation.

As Sunela puts it, such a long-established retreat shows the existence of a sustained civilization that predated not just the official advent of Buddhism but also the advent of the Sinhalese through Vijaya’s arrival. But though there was when she visited a small archaeological team in place, it is nothing like enough to explore the area in the depth it cries out for.

One element that shines through her narrative is the dedication to their work of the many members of the archaeological department she meets, not surprising given that their gurus were Siran, and Senaka Bandaranayake, and Sudharshan Seneviratne, whose commitment to truth was paramount. But publicizing their findings, and ensuring more discoveries, has not been managed at all effectively by those who decide on received wisdom, and sadly none of this is taught in schools. There what I termed the Anuradhapura-centric concept of this land, as I termed it when I tried so hard to change things, still dominates – though I now realise that it is not just Anuradhapura-centric, it relies on a vision of Anuradhapura that Anuradhapura itself, that magnificent city older than time, sustained in its grandeur for well over a millennium, would not itself understand.

The steady accumulation of the evidence Sunela has gathered, on the ground and in different narratives, establishes beyond doubt the accuracy of her principal thesis, namely the existence well before Vijaya, and well before Buddhism began – and she argues that it had arrived in Sri Lanka long before the conversion of Devanampiya Tissa, following visits of the Buddha himself – of an advanced civilization in this country.

Less unquestionable is her account of how that civilization developed. She believes that there were indigenous inhabitants here from prehistoric times, but she also argues that there were then waves of immigrants, who came across the sea and also by land from what she loosely describes as Persian areas, beyond the Indus. They she believes, though through interactions with the wisdom of those whose lands they came through or to, developed both the Indus civilization, and that of Lanka

She declares that in the period preceding recorded history, this land was inhabited by three tribes, the Rakusas, the Nagas and the Yakas. The first were the original inhabitants, who contributed their detailed knowledge of the land to the civilization that developed. The last were the dominant race, deriving from Persian immigration though with a healthy admixture of Rakusas, whose contribution to the physical basis of technological achievement – metallurgy for instance and the lie of the land – was invaluable, and which led to partnership in the national heritage, albeit at a lower level.

Different from these were the Nagas, who in an imaginative leap that is nevertheless most convincing she places on the coast, the repositories of a maritime culture they had derived from the voyages from other lands which had led to their settlement here. She argues convincingly that they dominated the Kelaniya kingdom, where the Buddha had preached – before going on to the Yaka kingdom in the hills – and that they were the people from whom Vihara Maha Devi and thence her son Dutugemunu derived.

All this is convincingly laid out in the second part of the book, entitled ‘Divided we fall’. That had been preceded by a description of the transition from cave dwellers to urbanization, though it is heralded by an account of the situation of the island and how and why migration had played such a large part in its development. Reading her account, one realizes how laughable it is to suppose that Vijaya was one of a kind, and that his advent brought civilization to a primitive dispensation. Indeed, she notes that the very fact that Kuveni was weaving suggests that Lanka had moved far beyond the simple life of the first cave dwellers and nomads.

The last section of the second part is about the Arya Sinhala and recounts how Vijaya’s advent led to consolidation of a kingdom at Anuradhapura of which he was seen as the only begetter. And that perhaps was true as far as Anuradhapura went as a capital, though Sunela also makes clear its long history as a trading centre between east and west.

The capital, Sunela argues, had been in the hills before Vijaya arrived. The third part of the book is entitled ‘The Time of the Yakas, but it is the shortest, and has just the one chapter, ‘Ravana of the Mayurangas’. Sunela claims that the Mayurangas were born of marriages of Yakas and Rakusas, and notes that Ravana’s mother was a Rakusa princess: in a footnote she mentions that, as late as the time of the Kandyan kingdom, crown princes were married to the daughters of Veddha chieftains, which she believes a reprise of this old tradition.

This chapter darts about the past, but interestingly, for instance in its assertion that Ravana married a princess from Gujarat – a link between what Sunela has described as Persian immigrants, who settled in various places on the long route southward – and that her father was the renowned architect mentioned in the Mahabharata as having built the palace of the Pandavas. But all this, featuring a close link between characters in the two great Indian epics, is shadowy, a prey to Sunela’s habit of not clearly identifying her sources. Rather she employs a discursive style, here and throughout the book, with annotations rather than footnotes, for instance simply declaring here that ‘Oral histories in Gujarat and Rajasthan maintain the presence of the Yaka and even feature King Ravana’.

Given that Sunela’s principal thesis is the suppression of history that does not fit in with a dominant narrative, one can understand her reliance on what is described as oral history and traditions. But it would have been more convincing had she cited the record of the name of Queen Mandodhari’s father in the Ramayana as well as in the Mahabharata, and also her evidence for the manner in which Ravana inherited the kingdom from Kumba Karna his half-brother, and how she relates that name to Kuvera, deified as a symbol of wealth.

This type of sliding over interesting elements is what makes one wish she had had a better editor – who might also then have ensured that she wrote in sentences, rather than in hanging clauses, designed perhaps to enhance the intensity of her narrative but more likely arising from carelessness. Unfortunately, I suspect she intended the book to be simply a record of a personal quest, rather like Ameena’s account of Ibn Batutta’s travels. But whereas that was clearer in its admittedly less momentous argument, and well evidenced, this reads at times like the retailing of a personal mythology, drawing strands from all over but leaving a lot of loose ends.

Still, these are undoubtedly fascinating. Thus, Kubera’s next startling appearance in the book, as a squat figure in relief at the top of the Nalanda Gedige. Sunela compares this to Cambodian architecture, and dates it to the last Mahayana era, noting erotica but also ‘the only officially accepted identification of any character related to the Mayuranga dynasty’. But when she asks, ‘Who revered Ravana’s sibling?’ one realizes she has allowed predilection to triumph over science – unlike the Yakas she praised – and leaped from Kumba Karna to an Asian symbol of wealth to reverence for Ravana’s brother.

Her account of the Nalanda Gedige occurs in the fourth part of the book, ‘The Landscape of a Lost Kingdom’, which relates her travels to different parts of the island in search of traces of Ravana and of the prehistoric period. I have already mentioned her account of the grand trading city on the northwest coast and the quiet monastic retreat in the south east. Then she also writes about Anuradhapura, with a striking account of the discoveries of the team led by Robin Coningham, and about the surroundings in the Dumbara Valley of the assumed location of Ravana’s palace and its defences.

She talks about Budhuruvagala, that beautiful Mahayana monastery near Monaragala, about cemeteries in Wilpattu around her grand western city, and also about Adam’s Peak. Here she cites a possible reason for it having been held sacred by so many for so long, and its alleged proximity to paradise: it seems it is in the place on the earth where gravity is least forceful, which would explain the assumption that it was a possible take off point for the heavens.

She also describes here what I gather was also put forward in her first book, The Line of Lanka, that the mountain is at the centre of lines that connect four shrines sacred to God Saman, the titular deity of the mountain. She argues that he is derived from Rama’s brother Lakshmana, who was left to look after the land soon after Ravana had been conquered, though he soon went back to join his brother in India, leaving the kingdom to Ravana’s brother Vibhishana, who had joined Rama.

Sunela claims that the four shrines, including the famous devale near Ratnapura, are at the ends of a cross, centred on Adam’s Peak. Earlier she had shown that the Nalanda Gedige was at the very centre of the island. This mathematical precision she claimed was evidence for the technological capacity of the Yakas – and not only did this allow them to measure across mountains, they were also able to measure across seas, for she takes the line on to an island in the Maldives which has ruins reminiscent of the tomb of Mahinda at Raksagala.

After the tour de force of this fourth part, Sunela comes to ‘The Death of a King’, and describes vividly the way she believes Rama overcame Ravana. She argues that his bow shot not an arrow but some sort of explosive, and she describes the collapse of part of the mountain where Ravana was supposed to have had his palace. She notes the collapse of the entrance to a cave through which Ravana’s son Indrajit was, she argues, coming to the support of a garrison. Her case she believes is strengthened by the tales of villagers in the area, around the lake of Dunvila, ‘the lake of the bow’, by which she has a home, for whom Ravana’s kingdom is still a historical rather than mythical reality.

She is condign in her criticism of Vibhishana, to whom Rama left the kingdom, who she argues was hated, so that it was not surprising it was in a shambles when a few decades later Vijaya appeared. But even more interesting is her suggestion that Ravana had not lusted after Sita, but was instead trying to rescue his long-lost daughter – sent away when it was foretold that she would destroy the kingdom – when he heard she was living in the jungles.

What Sunela does not do is connect Sita with a daughter of Ravana, who is attested in an inscription as having gifted a cave to the Sangha on a rocky outcrop in Kumana in the southeast of the country. Her name was Shohili, and one wonders if she might have been the daughter left behind when Sita was sent away.

Such speculation is in line with the joyous creativity of the book. It is well worth reading, and most informative, though I do wish standard practices had been followed, including an index, to make it easier to absorb, and also to render the links Sunela makes easier to follow.

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Features

Own the car or let the App drive?

Published

5 hours ago

2026/06/10

Sahan Weerasooriya

The real cost of daily travel in urban Sri Lanka

For many middle-class Sri Lankans, the private car still carries connotations of stability, dignity, and upward mobility. Yet in today’s Sri Lanka, with petrol at Rs. 434 per litre, following the Ceylon Petroleum Corporation’s revision, effective 30 May, 2026, loan-to-value ratios tightened to 40% requiring a 60% down payment, and ride-hailing apps now joined by app-based three-wheelers, the question of whether to own a car has become sharper than ever. The answer is not emotional but economic: for ordinary day-to-day travel, is it actually cheaper and wiser to own a car, or to let the app do the work?

Take a generic urban Sri Lankan commuter making a 40 km daily round trip to office and back, with routine errands built in. That is about 880 km a month across 22 working days. At that level of usage, the arithmetic becomes surprisingly clear: for a large group of moderate urban users, app-based mobility, whether a car or a three-wheeler, is financially smarter than owning a car, unless the non-financial benefits of ownership matter deeply enough to justify the premium.

The Sri Lankan distortion:

cars cost too much

In most developed economies, cars are consumer durables. In Sri Lanka, they behave more like luxury financial assets. A moderate vehicle, such as a Toyota Raize or Honda Civic, often costs several times what a comparable car would in a developed market, once taxes, import restrictions, and scarcity are priced in.

Assume a moderate privately used car priced at 10 million. Under the Central Bank’s current 40% LTV directive, the buyer may borrow only 40% against the vehicle’s value, requiring a 60% down payment of 6 million and a five-year lease on the remaining 4 million. At a typical Sri Lankan leasing rate of 14% per annum, the monthly lease instalment comes to approximately 93,000. A moderate petrol vehicle averages around 12 km per litre in urban traffic. At Rs. 434 per litre, fuel cost alone is 36 per km, or 31,800 per month for 880 km. Add insurance of 12,000 and a conservative 4,000 for routine running costs, and total cash outgoings reach approximately 140,800 per month.

But cash outgoings alone understate the true cost. The 6 million down payment, if invested elsewhere at 9% per annum, would generate approximately 45,000 per month in foregone return. Adding this opportunity cost, the full economic cost of the moderate car rises to 185,900 per month, or 211 per km.

The app alternatives: car or three-wheeler

Urban Sri Lankan commuters today have many distinct app-based mobility options, each serving different journey types and comfort preferences.

Uber and PickMe (car hire): A premium car hire through Uber or PickMe costs approximately 150 per km. For 880 km of monthly travel, that comes to 132,000 per month. Compared with the moderate owned car at 185,900, the app saves 53,900 per month, or 61 per km. On purely financial terms, the app wins decisively.

App-based three-wheelers: App-based three-wheelers currently charge approximately 110 per km. For 880 km, that is 96,800 per month, saving 89,100 per month and 101 per km compared with the moderate owned car. The tuk-tuk app is the most economical of the three mobility options for short urban trips, though clearly unsuitable for highway travel, poor weather, carrying passengers in formal settings, however, it represents a compelling financial case.

Non-financial advantages of ownership

Transport decisions are never purely accounting exercises. A private car offers privacy, immediate availability, flexibility, and family utility in ways that no app can fully replicate. With your own car, you can leave when you want, stop when you want, change route mid-journey, carry files or groceries without thought, respond to emergencies, and avoid the uncertainty of waiting for a driver to accept your ride. It also becomes a family coordination tool: school drop-offs, medical visits, elderly passengers, unplanned errands, and weekend travel all become easier. In psychological terms, ownership buys autonomy. No app-based alternative, whether car or three-wheeler, provides that.

The hidden burden of car ownership and app limitations

Yet the same car creates stress. Urban Sri Lankan driving is rarely relaxing. Congestion is exhausting, lane discipline is weak, and parking is a recurring headache. Every daily driver absorbs cognitive fatigue that accumulates invisibly over months.

Uber and PickMe remove the burden of driving, fuelling, and servicing. But they introduce their own friction: waiting times, driver cancellations, surge pricing during peak hours or rain, and inconsistent vehicle quality. App three-wheelers add further constraints, limited luggage capacity, exposure to weather, and social context limitations. The app does not eliminate inconvenience; it transforms driving stress into coordination stress.

There is also the administrative burden of ownership that many buyers underestimate. A car is not just a vehicle; it is an asset management project. Lease payments must be tracked, insurance renewed, service appointments remembered, tyres monitored, and documents maintained. Even a low-maintenance new car carries the persistent fear that one breakdown or accident can create a large unexpected outflow. The app user, by contrast, simply pays for completed trips, no garage anxiety, no debt-linked asset stress, no renewal calendar.

Sensitivity analysis: what if the car is a lower-grade Wagon R?

The picture changes if the household opts for a lower-grade entry-level vehicle. Assume a Suzuki Wagon R or equivalent at 6 million, again with a 60% down payment of 3.6 million and a five-year lease on 2.4 million. At 14% per annum, the monthly lease instalment is approximately 55,800.

The smaller car delivers better fuel economy, around 15 km per litre. At 434 per litre, fuel cost becomes 29 per km, or 25,500 per month for 880 km. Add insurance of 7,000 and running costs of 3,000. Including opportunity cost at 9% on the 3.6 million down payment (27,000 per month), the total economic cost is 118,300 per month, 134 per km.

Now the comparison becomes more nuanced. A lower-grade Uber or PickMe alternative costs around 125 per km, or 110,000 per month for 880 km. The gap narrows dramatically: owning the Wagon R costs only 8,300 more per month, just 9 per km, compared with the app car option. The app three-wheeler at 110 per km (96,800 per month) is still materially cheaper, saving 21,500 per month against the lower-grade owned car. (See Table 1)

So, what should an urban Sri Lankan do?

If you travel alone on routine urban routes, the app three-wheeler at 110/km is the most economical option by a wide margin, saving up to 89,100 per month against a moderate owned car. Its limitation is not financial but practical: unsuitable for families, formal occasions, highway travel, and bad weather, but convenient-no stress.

For families, formal occasions, highway travel, and bad weather and convenient-no stress, Uber or PickMe Moderate car at 150/km delivers private-car comfort without the asset burden, saving 53,900 per month against the moderate owned car. The saving is if you get an economy APP car.

If you need family flexibility, late-night mobility, or privacy, ownership remains rational, but preferably through a lower-grade car around 6 million. At 134/km, the Wagon R-type car is only 9/km more than the app car alternative and 24/km more than a tuk-tuk, a gap that autonomy, family convenience, and immediate availability can legitimately justify.

Therefore, in Sri Lanka’s distorted vehicle market, with fuel at LKR434/lt, a 60% mandatory down payment, the Wagon R-type leased car remains relatively a better choice for a family with moderate earnings.

The private car still offers freedom. But in 2026 Sri Lanka, that freedom comes at very different prices. The real question is how much each household can afford to pay for autonomy, prestige, and convenience, and whether the extra 61/km for a moderate leased car, against a perfectly capable app car, or 101/km against a tuk-tuk app, represents a rational expenditure of household income. For most salaried urban commuters, the honest answer is: probably not.

(The writer, a senior Chartered Accountant and professional banker, is Professor at SLIIT, Malabe.

Views expressed in this article are personal.)

Features

Justice and democracy in Sri Lanka’s new political era

Published

1 day ago

2026/06/9

Sahan Weerasooriya

The legal processes are steadily closing in on some of the most controversial cases that have remained as open questions without closure for many years. These include the Easter Sunday bombings of 2019, the Treasury bond scam that erupted in 2015, and a range of corruption allegations that became synonymous with successive governments over the past two or more decades. What once appeared to be stalled investigations are now showing signs of movement through the courts and investigative agencies. Recent developments suggest that these long running cases are entering a decisive phase. In the Easter Sunday attacks investigation, new arrests and investigations have brought renewed attention to allegations that extend beyond the immediate perpetrators and into questions of intelligence failures and possible political complicity. The arrest and detention of former intelligence chief Suresh Sallay under the Prevention of Terrorism Act has intensified public interest in uncovering the full truth behind the attacks.

The Treasury bond scam has also re-entered the spotlight. The Supreme Court has recently overturned legal obstacles that had prevented prosecutions from proceeding and directed that the case moves forward expeditiously. This has reopened one of the most sophisticated financial scandals in the country’s recent history and brought several prominent political and financial figures back under legal scrutiny. As those implicated in these unresolved cases are leading figures from previous governments, which have spanned both sides of the political divide since Independence, it can well be imagined that there is tremendous opposition to the gradually enveloping legal processes that is both seen and unseen.

These cases that are now being investigated cut across political camps and involve individuals who occupied some of the highest offices in the country. The result is that resistance to accountability is likely to emerge from many quarters. Still to be opened are the thousands of cases of persons gone missing during the war. Presidential Commissions have been appointed with regard to them, but there has been no serious investigations of the type now taking place.

In these circumstances, it can be surmised that the government led by those who are new to power would wish to retain a maximum of power to face the pushback that is bound to emerge from those in the opposition who have wielded power for generations. The government may calculate that this is not the time to disperse authority or reduce the instruments of state power available to it. Instead, it may believe that a period of centralised control is necessary if investigations, prosecutions and reforms are to proceed without interference.

Provincial Elections

It appears that the opposition’s efforts to mobilise the people and public opinion against the government have not been successful so far. One such instance was the attempt to generate opposition to price increases. Although people have undoubtedly been affected by rising prices and economic difficulties, these efforts failed to gather significant momentum. Another attempt came when President Dissanayake predicted that opposition politicians would face imprisonment in the month of May as legal cases progressed, though this has not happened. Critics claimed that such remarks suggested an intention to influence judicial outcomes. Yet this criticism also failed to gain traction among the public. The likely reason is that public memory remains fresh. Many people continue to associate previous governments with economic mismanagement, corruption scandals, abuse of power and the eventual economic collapse. In comparison, the present government continues to enjoy a reservoir of public goodwill and credibility. As long as legal action appears to be based on evidence and proper process, the public seems prepared to give the government the benefit of the doubt.

The government’s deliberate and cautious approach to political reform that would reduce its centralised power needs to be seen in this context. The monthly approval by Parliament of the emergency regulations is justified by the government as due to the continuing need to respond to the devastation caused by Cyclone Ditwah. However, when viewed together with the reluctance to hold provincial council elections on the grounds of electoral reform, the failure to repeal the Prevention of Terrorism Act and the postponement of constitutional reform, they all appear to reflect a preference for retaining maximum control at a politically sensitive moment. There is a logic to this approach. Governments facing major legal and political confrontations often seek stability and control. So does every despot. However, there is also a downside.

When political competition is denied to legitimate outlets, it often finds expression in confrontation, obstruction and polarisation. The advantage of prioritising the conduct of provincial council elections at this time is that it could reduce the political pressures that are building up. The main opposition parties are united in calling for these elections to be held. Conducting them would provide an opportunity for opposition political parties to obtain a measure of democratic representation and political authority at the provincial level. This would be especially true in the northern and eastern provinces, in which the ethnic and religious minorities predominate. It cannot be forgotten that the provincial council system was developed as a constructive response to the ethnic conflict. Elections at the provincial level would create opportunities for a new generation of political leaders to emerge through democratic competition rather than patronage. Many of those now facing legal scrutiny belong to an older generation to whose needs the younger may be less deferential.

Two Pillars

Another reform that could command bipartisan support is the repeal of the Prevention of Terrorism Act. The PTA has once again become controversial because it is being used in situations that extend beyond its original purpose. The detention of former intelligence chief Suresh Sallay under the Act, the continued incarceration of some Tamil detainees from the war period, and the arrest of individuals accused of speech related offences have all revived concerns regarding prolonged detention without trial and excessive executive power. The reason the PTA has been difficult to repeal is that it is closely associated with concerns regarding national security and territorial integrity. Introduced in 1979 as a temporary measure to confront the emerging separatist conflict, it survived through decades of war and has remained on the statute books long after the conflict ended.

At the same time, history shows that extraordinary powers are likely to be misused. Laws that permit detention without trial or broad executive discretion are rarely confined to their original purpose. Governments of different political parties have used such powers against opponents and critics. The temptation to do so is inherent in the possession of unchecked authority. The way forward could therefore be a combination of accountability and reform. The government should continue to support independent investigations and prosecutions in major corruption and security related cases. Demonstrating political will in this regard would strengthen public confidence in the rule of law and reinforce the principle that no individual is above the law. The PTA could be replaced with legislation that amends the Criminal Procedure Code and Penal Code in a manner that addresses legitimate security concerns while complying with democratic norms and human rights standards.

There are also international dimensions to consider. The European Union has repeatedly linked governance and human rights reforms, including reform of the PTA, to Sri Lanka’s continuing access to the GSP Plus trade concession. Progress on these issues would strengthen Sri Lanka’s international standing at a time when economic recovery remains a national priority. The government has a rare opportunity. It possesses a strong electoral mandate, public goodwill and a reputation for integrity that previous governments lacked. It can combine the pursuit of justice in long delayed cases with meaningful democratic reforms that reduce political resistance and broaden public support. At this time, accountability and power sharing are the two pillars which Sri Lankans need to be committed to build a just and democratic society for a better future without delay. Failure now would make for a long period of waiting for the next time.

by Jehan Perera

Features

Pitfalls and exclusions in academic recruitment

Published

1 day ago

2026/06/9

Sahan Weerasooriya

Academic recruitment

A public university relies on its teachers in fulfilling its responsibilities to the wider community. While teaching remains the chief responsibility of the academic staff, they also conduct research and play a central role in keeping the university a vibrant space where they and students can freely participate in conversations that concern not just routine classroom education but also society at large. The broader intellectual culture and intellectual integrity of a university thus depend on how its academics perform their functions. Therefore, universities should take the task of recruiting their academics seriously. It is important to ensure that this task is done responsibly, transparently and credibly through a fair, thorough and multi-phased evaluation process.

As both an applicant and a member of selection panels for recruitment, I hold that the recruitment procedures, currently in place in our university system, require radical reforms. Echoing some of the concerns raised by Kaushalya Perera in her Kuppi article on recruitment in March 2026, I focus on the limitations I have observed and experienced, specifically in the recruitment of Lecturer (Probationary) and Senior Lecturer positions. The article also aims to explore how these shortcomings could be addressed.

The Advertisement

Recruitment for Lecturer (Probationary) and Senior Lecturer positions is done through an open-advertisement which also involves an interview with shortlisted candidates. Advertisements are finalised in line with a template issued by the Registrar’s Office. Generally, an initial draft, prepared by the Registrar’s Office, is sent to the relevant academic departments for revisions. The revisions have to be made within the template provided, which allows space for the mention of only specialisation requirements.

It should be noted that not all revisions to the advertisement, suggested by the Department Head, are accepted in the next round. Deans, Vice Chancellors and Registrars, who have very little understanding of the disciplines associated with the position, sometimes reject the changes proposed by the Department. Technocratic in their thinking, they don’t recognise that an academic programme can be taught by persons with specialisation in another overlapping discipline. For instance, a position in English, at a university in Sri Lanka, is very well suited to not just those who have postgraduate qualifications in literary studies but also those who are from the disciplines of Applied Linguistics, Cultural Studies or Translation Studies, as these areas are taught as sub-fields of English studies at most universities in the country. These disciplinary overlaps, even when pointed out by Heads, are often overlooked by our administrators.

In place of this process, dominated by academic administrators and registrars, the advertisement should ideally emerge, from the relevant department, in the form of a comprehensive job description. It should mention the nature of the position advertised, the kind of teaching (and research) expected, how the position relates to other positions in the department, in terms of specialisation and workload, and the ways in which the recruited candidate would contribute to overall institutional development.

There can be no one-size-fits-all model when it comes to recruitment. Individual departments vary in size, strength and specialisation requirements. Departments with sizable academic staff may want to emphasise specialisation during recruitment, whereas smaller departments may prefer generalists who can handle a wide-array of courses. Specifying the rationale for the requirements included in the job description may help potential applicants get an understanding of the position advertised and the selection panel to conduct the evaluation process in a fair manner.

Review of Applications

Once applications are received, we sometimes find promising candidates but with qualifications that don’t carry in their title the name of the discipline or the department in which the position is advertised. Sometimes the disciplines or fields of specialisation that appear in the advertisement and the ones that appear in the qualifications are not identical in nomenclature, even though the research undertaken by the applicant during their graduate studies is strongly relevant to the position advertised. Even when such applications are accompanied by strong and relevant publications, our system does not view them positively. Instead, nomenclatural differences are used to reject promising candidates. Such differences are also used as a pretext when universities want to exclude a candidate for their cultural background, political beliefs or other reasons. Even if academic departments recognise such applications, at the next stage, the administrators of the university try to veto them. We lose inter-disciplinary scholars of high academic standing because of the high-handedness of university administrators.

Selection Panels

Selection panels for academic positions typically comprise the Vice Chancellor, the Dean of the Faculty, the Head of the Department, two academics nominated by the Senate and two members of the University Council. In the case of programmes/disciplines jointly housed under a single department, if the Head comes from a discipline other than the one in which the position is advertised, they may not be able to contribute in an informed manner to the recruitment process. However, some Heads refuse to appoint nominees from the relevant discipline in their place as they view sitting on selection panels as their exclusive privilege.

Sometimes university Senates do not take the appointment of Senate nominees seriously. These appointments are decided in a hurry without serious deliberations at senate meetings packed with numerous agenda items. Sometimes even if the relevant department has suitable academics to serve as Senate nominees, the Senate chooses academics from other departments or disciplines who do not have a nuanced understanding of the requirements of the position advertised and its disciplinary parameters. Sometimes specialists in the relevant discipline may not be available at a university. On such occasions, Senates tend to fill up the positions with academics from other disciplines, instead of inviting external nominees from other universities. At a state university in Sri Lanka, I was interviewed thrice for academic positions by selection panels that comprised not even one specialist from the relevant discipline.

The Marking Scheme

The marking schemes used in recruitment have their own drawbacks. Publications are sometimes evaluated for their quantity rather than quality. The opinion of the subject specialist is not sought or taken seriously when a candidate’s research is evaluated. This is why our universities are saddled with academics who engage in plagiarism or predatory publishing. The evaluation process should be tightened in such a way to bar the entry of those who lack academic integrity.

It is worrying to see that marking schemes and schemes of recruitment penalise applicants who have excelled in their graduate studies and are well-reputed for their recent research and publications just because they did not earn a first-class or second-class upper-division pass at the undergraduate level. Our narrow focus on a candidate’s first degree prevents us from giving due recognition to how that person has gained intellectual depth over the years. Some marking rubrics, which allocate points for eye-contact and posture during the interview, dilute the seriousness associated with the academic position, de-prioritise scholarship and turn the interview process into a stage performance.

Cultural Credibility

In recruitment, many universities look for cultural credibility (a term that I borrow from the work of Sulaxana Hippisley) as an unwritten requirement. Some departments are reluctant to hire applicants who are not their alumni. Some selection panels discriminate against candidates from certain ethnic or religious backgrounds. In some departments, women are rejected because they are likely to go on maternity leave or have more domestic responsibilities than men. Gender and sexual minorities have to mute and censor their identities at interviews because they are likely to face rejection if they openly declare their orientation. We have no policies and procedures in place to ensure recruitment is conducted in an inclusive way that sees diversity as a strength.

The Way-forward

When recruitment fails, the entire intellectual culture of that university takes a hit, and several generations of students are affected. Some of the current problems, related to quality in our higher education system, stem from bad recruitment policies and practices. Instead of trying to address these issues through rigorous and inclusive recruitment practices, we try to seek solutions via band-aids like quality assurance and workshops on curriculum writing and pedagogy for university academics.

In developing alternative recruitment policies and practices, we have to demand that the needs and expectations of individual departments are heard. Our selection panels should include more subject specialists than administrators and council nominees. Most of the evaluation should be completed before the interviews, and interviews should be treated as opportunities to get to know candidates in person and pose clarifying questions rather than as occasions for full-scale evaluation. We have to be open and receptive to new, inter-disciplinary scholarship and cultural, ethnic and gender diversity. If we are unwilling to introspect and bring about these reforms and revise our marking schemes, we will continue to recruit the wrong candidates and thereby fail our students and the wider community.

Mahendran Thiruvarangan is a Senior Lecturer attached to the Department of Linguistics & English at the University of Jaffna.

(Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies.)

by Mahendran Thiruvarangan