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Revisiting the UNP’s Lost Generation: Reflections on Sri Lanka’s Recent Political History through the lens of Prof. Rajiva Wijesinha

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Seated left to Right: M.H. Mohamed, CPJ Senewiratne, NGP Panditaratne, Lalith Athulathmudali, Cyril Mathew, Harsha Abeywardene, JR Jayewardene, Gamini Dissanayake, Anandatissa de Alwis (May 1983)

By Avishka Mario Senewiratne,
Editor of The Ceylon Journal

Last December, Prof. Rajiva Wijesinha released a new book titled Ranil Wickremesinghe and the Emasculation of the United National Party. As the title suggests, the book tackles a contentious and provocative topic and may not be an easy read for everyone. Nevertheless, it presents a highly engaging and insightful narrative that warrants close attention. While much of the information may not be entirely new, the context and storytelling offer fresh perspectives and raise critical questions about Sri Lanka’s recent history.

The book is structured into four accessible chapters, with the first, titled “The Lost Generations of the UNP,” piquing interest by exploring important aspects of the party’s history that have often been overlooked. This article should be seen as a preliminary commentary on the first chapter. The chapter itself presents a series of short biographical sketches, focusing mainly on the political journeys of key figures within the United National Party (UNP), and how their careers were shaped by events such as assassination, early retirement, party defection, or resignation. However, the chapter could have been greatly improved with a brief historical overview of the UNP as an introduction. Founded in 1947, the UNP has often been referred to as the “Grand Old Party of Sri Lanka.” While it won the 1947 and 1952 elections, the party reached its lowest point in 1956, securing just eight seats in Parliament. In the 1950s, the UNP earned the nickname “Uncle Nephew Party,” a reference to the party’s perceived nepotism. Nevertheless, the UNP made notable comebacks in 1960 and again in 1965, after being in opposition from 1956 to 1965, except for the brief period between the March and July elections of 1960. In 1970, despite securing the plurality of the popular vote in the General Election, the UNP ended up with only 17 seats, leading Dudley Senanayake, the Prime Minister at the time, to take a backseat in the Opposition. This allowed J. R. Jayewardene to take control of the opposition, with Senanayake remaining the UNP leader.

After Dudley’s sudden death in 1973, Jayewardene assumed leadership of the party. In 1977, the UNP won a historic victory, securing a five sixths super majority in Parliament, reducing the Sri Lanka Freedom Party (SLFP) to just eight seats, and leaving the Leftist parties without representation. Under J. R. Jayewardene’s leadership, several skilled and effective politicians joined the Cabinet, which has been widely regarded as one of the most efficient in post-colonial Sri Lanka, particularly in managing the economy, fostering development, and strengthening foreign relations.

JR and Dudley, 1965

However, the Cabinet faced significant criticism for its handling of the ethnic conflict, which eventually led to a 26-year civil war. This issue has remained a central point of debate, overshadowing the Cabinet’s achievements. Between 1970 and 1977, the UNP lost some of its most well-known and renowned leaders such as Dudley Senanayake, M. D. Banda, U. B. Wanninayake, I. M. R. A. Iriyagolla, Paris Perera and V. A. Sugathadasa. C. P. de Silva, Philip Gunawardena, Murugesu Tiruchelvam Q. C. though not UNPers, but serving in the previous UNP regime’s Cabinet, passed away in the said period. Though elected in 1977, S. de S. Jayasinghe and Shelton Jayasinghe passed away within a year of the new government.

This left the UNP with a dominant senior member, J. R. Jayewardene, who was elected Prime Minister and then with the new Constitution, became the Executive President. There were hardly any other senior UNPers apart from Montague Jayawickrema, Edwin Hurulle and M. D. H. Jayawardene. Essentially, there was little internal opposition within the UNP to J. R. Jayewardene’s actions regarding the creation of a new constitution, the establishment of the executive presidency, the events surrounding the referendum and the many troubles of the 80s. The few who voiced dissent on these matters—M. D. H. Jayawardene and Dr. Neville Fernando—were compelled to resign from their positions well before the end of their terms.

In this context, a new generation of politicians entered the UNP cabinet, bringing with them a blend of backgrounds and political experiences. Several key members of this cabinet are discussed in detail in Wijesinha’s first chapter on the “lost generation.” The 1977/78 UNP cabinets were notably diverse, with some members having roots in the SLFP, such as Gamini Dissanayake whose father had been a prominent SLFPer. Gamini himself first attempted to contest as a SLFPer in 1970. But upon his failing to get that that party’s ticket, he contested and won under the UNP. Ronnie de Mel, who had been aligned with the SLFP until 1975, was also a significant figure in this cabinet.

R. Premadasa, the Prime Minister, came from the Labour Party. The cabinet also included seasoned UNPer Wimala Kannangara, the only woman member, and Bill Devanayagam, the only Tamil representative, along with Shahul Hameed and M. H. Mohamed, the Muslim members. All four were entrusted with influential portfolios. Then there were newcomers to politics such as Nissanka Wijeyeratne, formerly of the Ceylon Civil Service who had fallen out with Mrs. Bandaranaike, and Lalith Athulathmudali, who had a flourishing legal practice.

Ronnie de Mel with Gamini Dissanayake and Upali Wijeywardene

The cabinet comprised a mix of old-fashioned UNPers, such as Maj. Montague Jayawickrema, Edwin Hurulle, E. L. Senanayake, Vincent Perera and Capt. C. P. J. Senewiratne, alongside more moderate figures like Anandatissa de Alwis, D. B. Wijetunga, Asoka Karunaratne, Gamini Jayasuriya, Ranjith Atapattu, and S. B. Herath. Cyril Mathew and Wijeyapala Mendis, more controversial figures, did not clearly fit into either category. Ranil Wickremasinghe, J. R. Jayewardene’s trusted nephew, remains today the sole surviving and active member of this Cabinet. Outside Parliament, Upali Wijewardena, who was speculated to enter both Parliament and the Cabinet before his disappearance in 1983, was another prominent figure. Abdul Bakeer Marker was made Speaker and later when E. L. Senanayke succeeded him, he became a Minister without a Portfolio. Though not a UNPer, S. Thondaman who was loyal to JR, found a Cabinet position as well.

Thus, JR Jayewardene’s cabinet was notably diverse, comprising individuals from varied political backgrounds, affiliations and experiences. As Wijesinha aptly notes, many of these figures were determined to pursue long political careers, with some even considered potential candidates for the presidency of Sri Lanka. What is particularly intriguing to the reader of Wijesinha’s first chapter are the significant, yet lesser-known aspects of the individuals discussed. It is questionable whether any political scientist, journalist, or historian has explored the perspectives and angles that Wijesinha addresses. Limited attention has been given to the ten individuals featured, including President Premadasa, whose biographies are often characterized by a somewhat romanticized portrayal or a hyper-critical portrait rather than a thorough, critical analysis.

Objectively speaking, all these individuals played vital roles in shaping modern Sri Lanka despite all controversy. Scholars should follow Wijesinha’s approach by critically examining and analyzing their subjects individually or collectively. Premadasa’s rise, first as Minister under Dudley Senanayake and later as Prime Minister under JR, is well-documented. Wijesinha concurs that Premadasa, with his appeal to the common man and success in programs like Gam Udawa, was the ideal candidate to succeed JR. Despite the challenges of the Civil War, the JVP insurrection, and internal party controversies, Premadasa oversaw significant economic growth. His assassination in 1993, just before his term’s end, curtailed his full potential.

JR’s Cabinet by Younus, Aththa 1980 March 19

One of the notable revelations in Wijesinha’s book, though not entirely undisclosed, is the power struggle among three prominent figures: Ronnie de Mel, Lalith Athulathmudali, and Upali Wijewardene. The former two were regarded as the most intellectually formidable members of J. R. Jayewardene’s Cabinet, and their rivalry was marked by intense animosity over policy matters and political positioning. Meanwhile, Upali Wijewardene, perceived as among the wealthiest individuals in the country at the time, was poised to enter the political arena. Ronnie de Mel achieved a significant milestone by balancing the national budget for eleven consecutive years, demonstrating a level of fiscal management unmatched by his predecessors or successors.

However, at the end of JR’s presidency, de Mel grew disillusioned with Ranasinghe Premadasa’s leadership and subsequently left the country. Although he returned to the legislature and remained politically active until 2004, he never recaptured the influence he once held under JR. Furthermore, JR’s most loyal confidante, Gamini Dissanayake, as noted by Wijesinha, initially expressed dissatisfaction with his assigned portfolio of “Irrigation, Power, and Highways.” Wijesinha’s father, Sam Wijesinha, who was then the Secretary General of the Parliament explained to the young Gamini the importance of his ministry that had been previously served by stalwarts like D. S., Dudley, Maithripala Senanayake and C. P. de Silva. Later, Gamini played a key role in implementing the Accelerated Mahaweli Development Project and in advancing Sri Lanka’s Test cricket status. Wijesinha also highlights Gamini’s presence in Jaffna in 1981 during the burning of the library, noting his subsequent shift toward a more moderate stance.

Lalith Athulathmudali, who held significant government portfolios, including Shipping and Trade and, later, National Security during the onset of the civil conflict, was regarded as one of the most respected politicians of his era. Wijesinghe notes that Lalith, an admirer of Singapore’s development, played a pivotal role in transforming the Colombo Port into one of the most efficient in Asia. Alongside Gamini Dissanayake, Lalith gained substantial popularity during the late 1970s and 1980s, fueling their aspirations for future presidential roles. By the end of 1988, however, it became evident that Premadasa was the leading contender to succeed JR. Both Lalith and Gamini supported Premadasa’s 1988 presidential campaign and hoping that one of them would be appointed Prime Minister in his administration. Instead, Premadasa appointed D. B. Wijetunga, causing significant discord within the UNP.

By 1991, escalating internal tensions led Lalith, Gamini, and other UNP backbenchers, in collaboration with the SLFP, to attempt to impeach President Premadasa. This effort ultimately failed, resulting in their exit from Parliament. Lalith and Gamini then created their own party. Tragically, Lalith was assassinated shortly before Premadasa, and Gamini (who had returned to the UNP) had a similar fate in 1994, just weeks before the presidential election in which he was the UNP’s candidate. Their untimely deaths ended two promising political careers.

Two individuals from Wijesinha’s “lost generation” are Dr. Ranjit Atapattu and Gamini Jayasuriya, both described by the author as “honest politicians” with similar temperaments. Atapattu was not assigned a significant portfolio until the 1982 cabinet reshuffle, when he became Minister of Health. Many would remember and acclaim that Atapattu was one of the most productive and enterprising Health Ministers of the 20th century. Despite his discomfort with some party policies, such as the Peace Accord with India, he remained loyal to the party and was later reappointed as Minister under Premadasa. However, he left politics in 1990 to join the UN, and as Wijesinha notes, his potential remained unfulfilled, with at least another decade of service left. Gamini Jayasuriya, a seasoned politician and direct descendant of Anagarika Dharmapala, with a strong streak of nationalism could not agree with JRJ’s Indo-Lankan Accord. Ever the gentleman, he resigned both from the cabinet and parliament in 1987 and never returned to politics.

Though Wijesinha names Shahul Hameed as one of those of “the lost generation”, both under JR and Premadasa, he received much prominence and died while serving an Opposition MP in 1999. It could be argued that he would have had a prominent role in the 2001-2004 UNP regime, had he lived.

Premadasa and Cooray

B. Sirisena Cooray, a significant figure in the book, served as Mayor of Colombo for ten years during JR’s presidency but gained prominence only under Premadasa. A trusted confidante of Premadasa for nearly 40 years, Cooray became one of the most powerful ministers in his regime. Wijesinha observes that Cooray entered politics solely to support Premadasa, feeling no reason to remain active after the latter’s assassination. Wijesinha expresses his perspective on the various alleged conspiracies that Cooray was involved in during the 80s and 90s.

The author recounts a striking anecdote on page 20: “…when I went along with Chanaka (Amaratunga) to the funeral I was astonished to see what seemed an almost festive atmosphere. It was clear the senior leadership of the UNP felt no sorrow at all, and D. B. Wijetunga who was Acting President seemed more pleased at the advancement he had received than sad at the death of the man who had pushed him much higher than he deserved. And then Hema Premadasa made an extraordinary speech in which she seemed to be offering herself as her husband’s successor… as we were leaving, I noticed a man sitting by himself, tears pouring down his face. That, Chanaka, told me, was Sirisena Cooray, and I realized then that was a man of deep feeling, and his devotion to Premadasa was absolute.”

After Premadasa’s assassination, Cooray withdrew from active politics, even when he was offered the position of Prime Minister, resigning as UNP secretary, though his influence within the Colombo Municipality, as noted by Wijesinha, persisted well into the 21st century.

Dr. Gamini Wijesekera is another individual discussed by Wijesinha. As the author writes, he was less well-known then and is virtually forgotten today. Wijesekera was the General Secretary of the UNP and was a “gentleman”, who did not stoop into thuggery or corruption. A medical doctor turned politician, Wijesekera was one who played with a straight bat. He lost his first bid to parliament in a by-election in Maharagama in 1983. The winner of this election was Dinesh Gunawardena, who was heartily wished well by the defeated Wijesekera. As Wijesinha notes, Wijesekera later left the UNP disillusioned by some of its policies and formed Eksath Lanka Jathika Peramuna (ELJP) with Rukman Senanayake and A. C. Gooneratne. Wijesinha notes the interesting work of the ELJP, now a forgotten entity.

Fast forwarding to 1994, Wijesekera was back in the UNP camp and surprisingly replaced Sirisena Cooray as Secretary. In 1994, UNP lost its 17-year grip in power when the SLFP under Chandrika Bandaranaike Kumaratunga won narrowly in the General Election. However, three months later, Gamini Dissanayake was named the UNP candidate for the Presidency and ran an enthusiastic campaign, though CBK was eventually victorious. Wijesekera campaigned heavily for Dissanayake but ironically was one of the many prominent UNPers who perished in the Thotalanga bomb explosion with Gamini Dissanayake.

These were the ten individuals who Wijesinha examines as the “Lost Generation of the UNP”. A few others, who he hasn’t shed much light can be added to this list and dealt later by himself or another scholar. These include Dr. Neville Fernando, Shelton Ranaraja, M. D. H. Jayawardena as well as Ranjan Wijeyeratne and Harsha Abeywardena, who were assassinated. With all of these individuals, virtually losing their place in the UNP, it is not surprising that its next leader would be Wijesinha’s first cousin (mother’s brother’s son), Ranil Wickremasinghe, the subject of Wijesinha’s book, whom he discusses in length in the subsequent chapters of this book, which are not subject to this review. Just as JR became powerful in the 70s, his nephew Ranil Wickremasinghe had hardly any opposition within his Party.

Wijesinha’s approach is both engaging and accessible, skillfully combining anecdotal storytelling, humor, and incisive analysis. Due to his personal connections and familial ties with prominent figures of the UNP, most aspects of his account can be regarded as particularly reliable. This blend of narrative techniques contributes to a compelling story that captivates the reader, making his work not only enjoyable but also intellectually stimulating. The opening chapter of Rajiva Wijesinha’s book merits commendation for its content and narrative style. Moreover, it invites further research and publication on several related topics. For example, many political parties have formally or informally documented their histories.

Notable works in this regard include Prof. Wiswa Warnapala’s study of the Sri Lanka Freedom Party (SLFP), Leslie Goonawardena’s account of the Lanka Sama Samaja Party (LSSP), and Wijesinha’s own writings on the Liberal Party. These accounts, authored by prominent figures within their respective parties, naturally reflect their authors’ biases. However, the history and development of the UNP remains fragmented, with no comprehensive exploration undertaken either by Party members or external scholars. While Wijesinha has addressed this topic in part, a thorough and cohesive history of the UNP remains absent.

In this context, each of the individuals from the “lost generation” of Sri Lankan politics warrants a distinct and balanced biography. Additionally, projects such as the Mahaweli Development Scheme, the Greater Colombo Economic Commission, the Mahapola Scholarship Project, and Gam Udawa deserve scholarly scrutiny and analysis in future research. Should these suggestions be realized, they could significantly contribute to the literature essential for understanding a critical aspect of Sri Lanka’s recent history.



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Revolt in the Temple: Poverty as Structural Control

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The underlying issue in Anuradhapura is a struggle between a few families who, for years, have waged a quiet cold war over control of the Udamaluwa. Similar situations exist in Mihintale as well. These places, among others, are treated as treasures of Buddhism but, in practice, function as tightly controlled economic centres. The same pattern repeats in Kandy around the Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic and in Kataragama at the shrine of God Kataragama. Variations of it exist across religious spaces of Islam, Catholicism, and Hinduism too, where institutional authority becomes indistinguishable from localised power networks. What is presented as sacred order often operates as inherited control.

It is indeed devastating to see situations where parents have no alternative but to expose their children to predators in robes for survival. This has nothing to do with religion itself, but with human pathology in the context of survival. These are the questions that demand answers, not superficial responses that treat symptoms while ignoring the conditions that produce them. What is more shocking and disturbing is not the tragedy itself, but the reactions to it. Social media has overwhelmed us, not towards understanding, but towards a fragmented cognitive state with no exit route.

A friend of mine in Nairobi used to keep all his electronic devices at home and go into the forest once a month, spending days there before returning. He called it “detoxification”, but in reality it was an escape from a system that no longer allows uninterrupted thought. Daily life is now saturated with unnecessary content, and attention itself has become a commodity extracted, processed, and sold back to us. This is where we have become unable to understand what really drives certain tragedies we endlessly react to, while remaining blind to the systems that quietly manufacture them.

Multi-dimensional poverty

Poverty is structural, poverty is political, and poverty is functional; it is a tool and a manoeuvring force of power. The question is no longer whether poverty exists, but who benefits from its persistence, and who is forced to survive within it. From education to medicine to basic food supply chains, countries like Sri Lanka are not simply mismanaged; they are structurally captured by a small number of actors who remain stable regardless of who is formally in power. Small-scale enterprises and NGO circuits that circulate foreign funding to “solve structural issues” often operate as hollow administrative performances, producing reports rather than transformation.

Poverty is not merely the absence of money. It is the absence of bandwidth, absence of protection, absence of time, and absence of cognitive stability. As Sendhil Mullainathan and Eldar Shafir state, “Scarcity captures the mind. Just as the starving subjects had food on their mind, when we experience scarcity of any kind, we become absorbed by it.” This is a description of how human cognition is structurally reorganized under constraint. Scarcity does not sit outside the person; it occupies them.

They also state, “Scarcity leads us to borrow and pushes us deeper into scarcity.” That is the mechanism that must be confronted without euphemism. Poverty is not only deprivation; it is a self-reinforcing trap in which survival decisions generate the next layer of crisis. Once a society crosses a certain threshold of scarcity, it stops producing long-term reasoning as a default condition. It produces short-term survival logic, often mistaken by outsiders for irrationality.

It is precisely here that public discourse becomes intellectually dishonest. Everything is translated into moral language because moral language is easier than structural analysis. But morality without structure becomes theatre. It produces outrage, not understanding, and repetition, not reform.

It is indeed brutal when an individual wearing religious insignia—whether robe, symbol, or institutional identity—is accused of acts that fundamentally contradict the moral authority attached to that position. It is equally brutal when institutions that depend entirely on trust begin to function as shields rather than safeguards. But the deeper question is not shock. The deeper question is what kind of social condition produces families who see placement within such institutions not only as devotion, but as a survival strategy under constraint.

Ethical decision-making

That is where the argument collapses into its most uncomfortable form. Poverty does not produce ethical decision-making environments. It produces constrained optimization under pressure. When food insecurity, debt, and social instability converge, institutional spaces that appear stable become transactional destinations for survival rather than moral choices. To interpret this as purely cultural failure is to deliberately ignore the structural compression of options.

Mullainathan and Shafir describe this clearly: “Instead of saying that scarcity ‘focuses,’ we could just as easily say that scarcity causes us to tunnel: to focus single-mindedly on managing the scarcity at hand.” That tunnelling effect is not abstract. It is visible wherever long-term planning collapses under immediate pressure. Systems then misread this as irresponsibility, when it is in fact cognitive overload produced by structure.

What is rarely acknowledged is how deeply this extends into governance itself. Institutions increasingly operate as if they are managing rational, unconstrained individuals. In reality, they are interacting with populations whose cognitive bandwidth is already structurally taxed. The result is policy failure interpreted as public non-compliance, enforcement interpreted as moral correction, and reform interpreted as communication failure rather than design failure.

Social media has intensified this distortion. It does not merely spread information; it destroys sequencing. Structural problems require temporal depth. Social media removes that depth and replaces it with instantaneous judgment. Every event becomes a surface object, detached from causality. The outcome is a society permanently reacting and never diagnosing.

Poverty, in this environment, becomes invisible in its real form. It is not seen as a continuous structural condition but as episodic failure. A scandal appears, is consumed, and disappears. Another replaces it. Nothing accumulates into understanding because attention itself is exhausted before synthesis can occur.

Modern Condition

The modern condition reflects a reversal of earlier social organization, where human relationships are embedded within abstract systems of finance, law, and administration that often fail to recognize the lived constraints of those they govern. In this disembedded state, institutions increasingly misinterpret human behaviour as their capacity for structural understanding weakens. At the same time, attempts to resolve systemic failures through expanding administrative complexity produce diminishing returns: more regulation, oversight, and reporting generate less coherence. Over time, institutions shift from functional effectiveness to symbolic performance, maintaining the appearance of control rather than achieving it.

This is why public outrage repeatedly fails to translate into structural change. Outrage is not a tool of reconstruction. It is a signal of system fatigue. It circulates, intensifies, and dissipates without altering the underlying architecture. Meanwhile, the conditions that produce repetition remain intact.

The most persistent illusion is that these are separate problems: poverty here, institutional misuse there, media distortion elsewhere. They are not separate. They are expressions of a single condition in which scarcity, complexity, symbolic authority, and fragmented enforcement interact without coordination. The system does not fail in one place; it fails in the gaps between these layers.

Symbolic systems

What makes this condition more severe is that symbolic systems continue to operate at full strength even when structural systems degrade. Religious identity remains powerful. Political rhetoric remains strong. Cultural symbolism remains intact. But enforcement capacity, institutional coherence, and social trust degrade beneath them. That gap is where instability grows. Until that gap is addressed at the level of structure rather than sentiment, repetition remains inevitable. New scandals will emerge, new interpretations will circulate, and new cycles of outrage will follow. Nothing resolves because nothing is being reconstructed beneath the surface of reaction.

This is no longer repairable through adjustment or rhetoric. It is a form of decay that persists until it exhausts itself, because the mechanisms meant to correct it are now part of the same failure. It continues until rupture, not reform. At that point, instability ceases to be episodic and becomes structural. Pressure will accumulate into breakdown, and what follows will not be managed transition but forced reversal. The responsibility lies with those who govern these institutions to prevent that trajectory, not through language, but through change. The drama is ending; farce is over; what we are witnessing is tragedy unfolding with unprecedented consequences.

by Nilantha Ilangamuwa

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Are threats to Buddha Sasana external or from within?

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As Sri Lanka celebrates the birth, Enlightenment and the Parinibbana of the Buddha, almost a month after the rest of the Buddhist-world did so, there is widespread discussion about threats to Buddha Sasana provoked by some recent incidents. Regarding the views expressed about postponing Vesak celebrations in my article ‘May Day and postponement Vesak 2026’ (The Island, 25 May), my very good friend Dr Upali Abeysiri has sent me the following comments: “The Mahanayakas have a good reason to postpone Vesak. The dawning of the full moon has to be on the same constellation (nekatha) as when the Buddha was born and attained enlightenment. Although Adhi Poya is reckoned as the second full moon arising in the same calendar month, this is supposed to be an odd exception.” Though it would have been ideal if a consensus could have been reached prior to the split of celebrations, perhaps, it does not matter very much as celebrations occur on a symbolic rather than an actual date, there being no historical or archaeological evidence confirming exact dates.

Whilst there are no direct threats to Buddha Dhamma, as the expanding horizons of science continue to confirm the fundamentals of Buddha Dhamma, there is no doubt whatsoever that there are threats to Buddha Sasana. However, these threats become important as the Buddha Sasana performs the pivotal role in protecting and propagating the Dhamma and, hence, become an indirect threat to Dhamma itself. Therefore, it should be the concern of all Buddhists and it is in this spirit I am making some comments which some may interpret as disrespectful to the Maha Sangha. I can reassure that my intentions are entirely directed towards the preservation of the Buddha Dhamma and Sasana. Though the Buddha proclaimed that the Sasana consists of Bhikkhu, Bhikkhuni, Upasaka and Upasika, for all practical purposes Sasana had been led by Bhikkhus, often at the expense of others.

There is hardly any doubt that there are external forces at play in Sri Lanka and even some Buddhists seem to object to Sri Lanka being called a Buddhist country. Interestingly, no one seems to object to countries like the UK and the USA being called Christian counties. I

There is no registration or baptism in Buddhism and there are no rewards for Buddhists for conversions. As I pointed out in a previous article, ‘How does the Buddha differ’ (The Island, 1 May) unlike most other religions, Buddhism is not a ‘high-demand’ religion, nor ‘law-based’ religion and is not exclusivist. Perhaps, it is this liberalism, pacifism and gentleness, which are the real strengths, that are being exploited as weaknesses by others.

There will always be external threats and the Buddha too faced many during his lifetime. Before addressing those, is it not more important to address the threats within? One of the most important problems seems to be the breakdown of discipline. Bhikkhus are bound by Vinaya rules, laid down by the Buddha and some recent incidents highlight total deviations. Though there were many previous incidents like unsubstantiated claims of Arahanthood, Bhikkhus attacking each other on YouTube and Bhikkhus conducting YouTube channels, not for the propagation of the Dhamma but for the accumulation of rupees, attention was focused after the detection of 22 young monks carrying narcotic drugs.

Though many commentators were quick to condemn the Sangha on this account, we need to go deeper. Narcotic menace has become a huge problem in Sri Lanka and it looks as if the drug lords would resort to anything to achieve their objectives. Though it looks as if some gullible young monks had been duped by drug lords, we need to question why it was possible. Is it due to the lack of supervision of these novices by their seniors that allowed them to accept a request in a WhatsApp group? Should there be checks and balances on foreign travel by Bhikkhus?

What shocked Buddhists was what followed next; the arrest of the Nayaka of Atamasthana for allegedly having sex with a minor. Anuradhapura was our first capital and Sri Maha Bodhi is the longest surviving authenticated tree in the world. Ruwanweliseya and Jetawanaramaya were among the ten tallest man-made structures in the ancient world, Jetawanaramaya still holding the Guiness record for the largest stupa in the world. Cyberspace is full of theories. Whilst some have condemned the Nayaka Thero even before the conclusion of inquiries whilst others claim that this was a coup by another Nayaka Thera in an attempt of succession.

I was intrigued, reading in a Sri Lankan newspaper about the 80th birthday celebrations of a Nayaka priest, who was convicted in London in 2012 of historical child sex abuse and sentenced to seven years in prison. I remember the case very well as he was the head of the Vihara, we had our first contact on relocating to the UK. I also remember his devotees, who believed that he was wrongly accused, collecting over £50,000 for an appeal. In spite of being represented by one of the top Barristers in the UK, the conviction was upheld but the jail-term was reduced by a year. His name is still on the sex-offenders register in the UK and he is permanently prevented from association with children. One can argue that as he has served the sentence and not reoffended, this should not be held against him but what baffled me is that he is still being referred to as the Chief Sangha Nayaka. Should a person on the sex-offenders register be the Chief Sangha Nayaka?

It is high time we put our own house in order before fighting the external enemies. It is reported that the former president CBK has written to the Mahanayakas requesting urgent reform and we should be obliged to her for taking the lead.

There are many aspects that need urgent reform, the first being removal of caste barriers practiced by some Nikayas, which is the greatest insult to the Buddha who promoted equality. The second is the active encouragement of Bhikkhuni Sasana which has not happened in spite of the landmark ruling by the supreme court. The third is the establishment of proper disciplinary processes under a single Adhikarana Sangha Nayaka with powers and support than allowing the government to take over the control of even non-criminal Vinaya matters.

There are many other issues that need settlement like the controversy of the land of Buddha’s birth which seems to linger on. An expert committee should hear all evidence and settle this issue once and for all.

As I have pointed out on many occasions in these columns, it is high time a Dhamma Sangayana was held, as the last one was 70 years ago. Ideally, it should be different with active participation of lay experts as well. It is the duty of us Buddhists to ensure that the words of wisdom of the Buddha continue to enlighten generations to come.

By Dr Upul Wijayawardhana

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Vijaya Kumar: Academic, Activist & Genial Fellow-Traveller

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Professor Vijaya Kumar

The University of Ceylon, Peradeniya, was in our time, a less-crowded residential university, where everybody knew everybody else or at least knew of everybody else.

I knew of Emeritus Professor Vijaya Kumar of the Department of Chemistry at Peradeniya, or Kumar, as we referred to him fondly, before I got to know him. His dear wife Savitri, also a member of the academic staff of the Department of Chemistry, was nicknamed Kumee, by some of their students (of which vintage is unknown to me) and the duo were thereafter referred to affectionately as Kumar and Kumee.

The Faculty of Science became a regular haunt of mine as I would go there in the company of my batchmates to attend lectures on Basic Mathematics given by Professor Maheswaran, as it was a requirement for our General Arts Qualifying Examinations. I would also go there to listen to some excellent talks under a programme that was held in the auditorium of the Science Faculty referred to as “Popular Science Gossip”. The “gossip” at these talks were not confined solely to science but were broad enough to include Literature, History and other branches of knowledge as well. I would often spot Kumar in the audience at these talks or bump into him in the corridors of the Science Faculty. But I got to know him personally only after he became the Warden of Arunachalam, my hall of residence, during my undergraduate years initially, and later, as a member of the academic staff of the Department of English.

Our Science Faculty undergraduate contemporaries, especially those at Arunachalam Hall and its immediate neighbour, Jayatilaka Hall, both within a stone’s throw away from the Science Faculty, shared many an anecdote about Kumar and their other lecturers. One of these anecdotes, had to do with a spectacular (motor car) driving feat of Kumar’s. Legend has it that he drove from his university bungalow-home to the Faculty of Science deploying only the reverse gear of his car! Kumar, on hearing of this, had told certain of his student friends, including some who became his colleagues later on, that this story is one of the biggest yarns he had heard in his life!

Some of his one-time younger colleagues, now in retirement like Kumar, tell me that Kumar exuded warmth and friendliness in all of his professional and administrative interactions with others in the wider university community. But there was no warmth or mercy for those who indulged in the unsavoury pastime of student ‘ragging’. He was a very strong proponent of the need to ensure to all freshers an environment free of the menace of ‘ragging’. He remained ever-vigilant during the ‘ragging’ season. There are stories of his chasing ‘raggers’ and catching them. Professor Maheswaran, who later became an intimate friend and remains so after more than half a century, was another who was fiercely opposed to ‘ragging’. I was a personal witness to Mahes chasing a ‘ragger’ up and down the stairs of the main library to nab him. Yet another of his students has noted that Kumar’s office room in the Faculty was a total mess at all times. It had tables, piled so high with books and documents that one could not easily spot Kumar at his desk. He, however, had the knack of pulling out from amidst the clutter, any document that he needed at any given time. If anybody were to volunteer to help tidy his desk, Kumar would respond firmly with “Don’t you touch my desk!”.

Kumar, like several of his colleagues in the other faculties as well, had his own eccentricities. According to information received from reliable sources, Kumar who taught Organic Chemistry used to carry his lecture notes in his shirt or trouser pocket with ‘the entire lecture condensed in point form on a half-sheet or half of a half-sheet of paper’. The way he rummaged through his sling bag filled to the brim with stuff to find an item that he needed was another ritual that amused onlookers.

Kumar, interestingly enough is a Royal-cum-Thomian product, in that he had his primary education at S.Thomas’ Prep School, Kollupitiya and the entirety of his secondary education at Royal College, which he entered in 1953. In a note written by Kumar himself, he notes that despite having had excellent teachers at Royal, his was not a notable school career. He goes on to say that “the only achievement I could boast of was my being the joint-winner of the school General Knowledge Prize”. However, he had been active in a Scout Group outside of school (1st Port of Colombo, Sea Scouts) where he “was Queen’s Scout, Patrol leader, and later, Assistant Scout Master”.

Kumar entered the Faculty of Science of the University of Ceylon in 1961 and secured from it an honours degree in Chemistry in 1965. He joined the academic staff of the Department of Chemistry in the Faculty of Science, University of Ceylon, Peradeniya in 1965 and left the following year for Magdalen College at Oxford University, from which institution he obtained his doctorate in Chemistry. His entire teaching career was at Peradeniya, where in the period 2003-2006 he served as the Dean of the Faculty of Science, a position that his late father-in-law had held a few decades earlier.

Among the other highlights of his career are: Chairman of the Industrial Technology Institute (formerly the Ceylon Institute of Scientific and Industrial Research, CISIR); Member (representing Sri Lanka) of the Geneva-based UN Commission on Science and Technology from 1999 to 2007 and its President from 2001-2003; President of the Sri Lanka Estate Workers Union from 1989 onwards; Member of the Politburo of the Lanka Sama Samaja Party from 1988 to 2014 and currently, a member of the Executive Committee of the National People’s Power (NPP).

Vijaya and Savitri Kumar are parents of daughters Shamala and Ramya, who are following in the footsteps of their parents: with the former teaching in the Department of Agricultural Economics in the Faculty of Agriculture, University of Peradeniya and the latter, in the Department of Community Medicine at the University of Jaffna.

(I wish to thank the following who assisted me in the writing of this brief essay: Mr. Bandula Warnakulasuriya, Emeritus Professor Ratnayake Bandara, Professor Mahinda Wickramaratne, Professor Swarna Wimalasiri and Mr. Manik de Silva).

*Editor’s note: Prof. Vijaya Kumar, a member of the NPP’s National Executive Committee and is still active in politics turns 84 today. This article by Tissa Jayatilaka, former Executive Director of the United States – Sri Lanka Fulbright Commission for Mutual Academic Exchange, was written for an upcoming collection of essays on Kumar’s life by his friends.

(Colombo Telegraph)

By Tissa Jayatilaka

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