Features
Sirisena Cooray: The Image and the Man
First death anniversary
by Tisaranee Gunasekara
“Here I must write, without prearrangement, details.”
Andre Gide (Journal)
“I’m unpacking my library.” So begins Walter Benjamin’s short essay on book collecting, Unpacking my library.
Moving house was something Sirisena Cooray did often, almost a pastime. In the last three decades, he moved back and forth between Colombo, Nawala, Malabe, Katana, and Biyagama. A bed, unassembled and assembled too many times, collapsed as he sat on it, a story his wife, Srimathi Cooray would relate with a twinkle in her eyes.
Every time Sirisena Cooray shifted house, his collection of a few hundred books had to be packed and unpacked, the only aspect of house moving he personally became involved in. They were his books, the mementos of a reading life. The collection varied, from old hardcover books with yellowed crinkly pages and dust jackets mottled with time to new paperbacks he got as birthday gifts. On the wooden shelves of his serial homes Alessandro Manzoni’s classic historiographical novel The Betrothed rubbed sides with Agatha Christie’s The Body in the Library, KPS Menon’s Delhi-Chungking: A travel diary with biographies of Gandhi, Mao and Putin. An eclectic collection, like the owner, fascinating, mystifying, and, ultimately, endearing.
With any public figure, there is a gap, large or small, between the image and the person. In the case of Sirisena Cooray, the gap was a chasm, an endless dark space birthed by prejudice and nourished with lies. That growth happened in tandem with the political rise of the Premadasa-Cooray combine. To hate one was to hate the other. Those who considered Ranasinghe Premadasa murderer-extraordinaire regarded Sirisena Cooray as the enforcer who took care of the nitty-gritty of killing.
To see past that chasm of disinformation, one had to know the man. But all too often, the chasm overshadowed the man, until, for many the public image, a construct of rumours and fears, became the whole, the everything. Books had no place in that creation, only guns; there, the neat handwritten notes Sirisena Cooray made about something he read (either for himself as a future reference or for a few friends) would have been transformed into hit-lists, or secret places where the bodies were buried.
Prejudice could be harder and more dazzling than even diamonds.
What we lose to lies
A secret group of Satanic, paedophilic sex traffickers control the US government and state, finance and media: thus goes the basic tenet of the Q Anon movement, that nebulous American construct of conspiracy maniacs. According to the composite of four recent polls, 16 percent of all Americans, that is 44million people, double the population of Sri Lanka, consider this to be the truth and nothing but the truth.
Humans have a predilection for conspiracy theories. The more extreme the lie, the more convincing it is to some. Think of that 1903 fabrication, The Protocols of the Elders of Zion. This supposed plan by Jews for global domination was exposed in 1921 as a fraud created by the Tsarist police. Yet it formed a toxic current that fed into the sea of mass murder that was the Holocaust.
Sirisena Cooray in his book, President Premadasa and I: Our Story, talks about the first murder attributed to him and Ranasinghe Premadasa. When Upali Wijewardene disappeared, it was claimed that his plane crash was engineered by Prime Minister Premadasa. Sirisena Cooray, then high commissioner in Malaysia, was said to have hired a submarine to take the debris away. In a biographical piece on President Premadasa, senior lawyer Jehan Cassim mentioned an even more extreme version of the story; that Sirisena Cooray not just hired that submarine but went in it to ensure that the job was done properly!
The Q Anon movement came into being in a historical time characterised by two tectonic changes, one actual, the other potential, the election of America’s first biracial president and the likely election of America’s first woman president. Until Ranasinghe Premadasa became the prime minister, this upstart from the wrong side of the tracks could be dismissed with a wink and a laugh. Once he became the second citizen and the possibility of a Premadasa Presidency turned real, mockery and sarcasm didn’t suffice.
So the murder tales began. They would reach a fever pitch when Ranasinghe Premadasa broke the glass ceiling of caste to become the second executive president, culminating in one final flight of imagination: that the Premadasa-Cooray combine planned a fake assassination attempt for Ranasinghe Premadasa which Sirisena Cooray turned into reality.
For conspiracy theorists, nothing crazy is alien. In the mid 1990’s the government of Chandrika Bandaranaike Kumaratunga would appoint three presidential commissions with the obvious intent of finding the Premadasa-Cooray combine guilty of the deaths of Vijaya Kumaratunga, Lalith Athulathmudali, and General Denzil Kobbekaduwa. The findings of the Athulathmudali Commission would eventually be dismissed by a three-judge bench of the Supreme Court and the entire enterprise end in farce when a star witness told one too many lies and two judges serving on the Kobbekaduwa Commission resigned.
Yet the stories persist. While searching for another article, I came across a reddit page with a question, What Sri Lanka related conspiracy theory do you believe in? The top three mentioned were the deaths Upali Wijewardene, Denzil Kobbekaduwa, Lalith Athulathmudali, and Vijaya Kumaratunga, with Ranasinghe Premadasa being fingered as the mastermind.
Those who believe in absurdities can commit atrocious stupidities, to paraphrase Voltaire. The silly stories about the Premadasa-Cooray murder machine and the tale of the Kelani Cobra both belong in the same spectrum of idiotic irrationality. The willing departure from the world of facts is the reason we are living in a stolen, broken country today.
In the aftermath of Ranasinghe Premadasa’s assassination, defending him was costly, politically and societally. Without Sirisena Cooray, and the Premadasa Centre he founded, the clearing of the Premadasa name would have never happened. Unfortunately, the participatory development model which characterised both the Janasaviya poverty alleviation programme and the second and third phases of the housing programme fared less well. Sirisena Cooray tried to resurrect at least parts of that model by various means, including getting a group of experts in diverse fields to come up with a comprehensive national plan in 1999. His efforts failed. The participatory model was forgotten; handouts became coterminous with progressivism cementing the dependency syndrome, thereby making both a short and a long term contribution of the current crisis.
In a birth anniversary tribute to Sirisena Cooray, career civil servant WD Ailapperuma explained how in 1992, a pilot programme implemented by the Ministry of Housing (with World Bank funds) in Badulla, Ratnapura, and Matara districts used the participatory model to build community water supply and sanitation projects. He also wrote how during Sirisena Cooray’s tenure as housing minister, a solar village was established as a pilot project in Pansiyagama in Kurunegala with Australian assistance. This provided “a simple photovoltaic solar home lighting system to 500 families, supplying a village family’s minimum power requirements – 4-6 lamps, a radio and a small television. With the experience of the pilot project, the Housing Ministry under Sirisena Cooray, embarked in 1991, on a follow-up solar power project…in the lower Uva region, one of the poorest, least developed areas in Sri Lanka. Solar power was provided to rural hospitals and maternity clinics, doctors’ quarters in rural hospitals, rural schools and school laboratories, teachers’ quarters, vocational training centres and most importantly for community water pumping. In addition, midwives were provided with portable solar lanterns to help in their night rounds and deliveries…” This long before Green Energy became a thing.
Post-1994 general election, Janasaviya could have continued with the inherent and operational weaknesses in the investment component addressed, the housing programme, sans Gam Udawa. If the solar pilot project was generalised, instead of increasing reliance on fossil fuel, the petrol-diesel queues of April-August 2022 could have been avoided. Had the development model combining private-public partnership in business with state-people partnership in the provision of basic services survived in an improved version, Sri Lanka would not have fallen behind Bangladesh. Instead, politicians of all stripes got into the habit of distributing roofing sheets and sewing machines. Unreason triumphed, cresting in 2019. The rest we are living through.
Political and Personal
Ranasinghe Premadasa was an original, incapable of being imitated or copied. So too was Sirisena Cooray. One was the visionary leader, the other the pragmatic second-in-command who charted a path from idea to reality. Dreaming was not Sirisena Cooray’s forte; work was. He didn’t like publicity for himself, was not a natural in front of a camera, a non-orator. But being around him when he slowly, painstakingly turned an idea into reality could and did inspire. It was a learning experience in how to get things done, from the mundane to the very big, on time. Always on time.
The Premadasa-Cooray partnership which changed Lankan history would not have survived without their deep personal bond. For Sirisena Cooray, a shared political vision would not have sufficed. An emotional bond was an equal, perhaps a greater, necessity. On two occasions, once at a public meeting in the Sucharitha Hall and again at an organisational discussion in the Premadasa Centre, I heard, with incredulity and bewilderment, Sirisena Cooray telling participants, “Support me only if you love me” (a literal translation). Colombo Central old hands responded to my incomprehension and shock with amused resignation. Nothing new there, I was told, that was the man. It had taken a direct order from President Premadasa to compel candidate Cooray to campaign for himself at the 1989 general election, even then reluctantly and with scant enthusiasm.
The mantle of strongman fitted Sirisena Cooray well so long as Ranasinghe Premadasa was alive. Post-Premadasa, he only played at playing the role, that too occasionally. For his leader-friend, he would move mountains. For himself, a sand castle sufficed. He was committed to the task of clearing Ranasinghe Premadasa’s name. Once that challenge was won to a large degree, political involvement lost its spice. He dabbled in politics because it was a habit and as a way of keeping the connection to Premadasa loyalists alive. He knew he was their last link with their lost leader, and that was a responsibility he never shirked.
Manik de Silva recently recalled how he sent a text to Sirisena Cooray around 2.30 in the morning and got a call back immediately. You couldn’t be the man at Ranasinghe Premadasa’s side without being a very early riser. The habit never left Sirisena Cooray. He once said that those early morning hours were the hardest, when he was up with just memories for company. As he stated at the end of his book, “Today he is gone, and I am alone with my memories. The problem is there are too many memories.”
Sirisena Cooray was neither visionary nor leader. His organisational genius worked only with and for Ranasinghe Premadasa. Yet he reached close to the impossible heights of perfection in two areas. One was as second-in-command to a leader he loved. Second was as a friend, caring and dependable in matters large and small. A kind hearted man, a decent human being.He lost many friends to death, a few to vagaries of life. To those who remained, he too left a weight of memories behind.
In pandemic times, when visits had to be infrequent, I developed the habit of calling Sirisena Cooray every other day. The time was unvarying, between 6 and 6.10 in the evening. Even a minute’s delay was noted and remarked on, a cheery You are late, followed by a chuckle.One year on, some days, as six in the evening nears, I find myself glancing at the clock, until memory returns.
Features
Wishes, Resolutions and Climate Change
Exchanging greetings and resolving to do something positive in the coming year certainly create an uplifting atmosphere. Unfortunately, their effects wear off within the first couple of weeks, and most of the resolutions are forgotten for good. However, this time around, we must be different, because the nation is coming out of the most devastating natural disaster ever faced, the results of which will impact everyone for many years to come. Let us wish that we as a nation will have the courage and wisdom to resolve to do the right things that will make a difference in our lives now and prepare for the future. The truth is that future is going to be challenging for tropical islands like ours.
We must not have any doubts about global warming phenomenon and its impact on local weather patterns. Over its 4.5-billion-year history, the earth has experienced drastic climate changes, but it has settled into a somewhat moderate condition characterised by periods of glaciation and retreat over the last million years. Note that anatomically modern Homo sapiens have been around only for two to three hundred thousand years, and it is reasoned that this stable climate may have helped their civilisation. There have been five glaciation periods over the last five hundred thousand years, and these roughly hundred-thousand-year cycles are explained by the astronomical phenomenon known as the Milankovitch Cycle (the lows marked with stars in Figure 1). At present, the earth is in an inter glacial period and the next glaciation period will be in about eighty thousand years.
(See Figure 1. Glaciation Cycles)
During these cycles, the global mean temperature has changed by about 7-8 degrees Centigrade. In contrast to this natural variation, earth has been experiencing a rapid temperature increase over the past hundred years. There is ample scientific evidence from multiple sources that this is caused by the increase in carbon dioxide gas in the atmosphere, which has seen a 50% increase over the historical levels in just hundred years (Figure 2). Carbon dioxide is one of the greenhouse gases which traps heat from the sun and slows the natural cooling process of the earth. This increase of carbon dioxide is due to human activities: fossil fuel burning, industrial processes, deforestation, and agricultural practices. Ironically, those who suffer from the consequences did not contribute to these changes; those who did contribute are trying their best to convince the world that the temperature changes we see are natural, and nothing should be done. We must have no illusions that global warming is a human-caused phenomenon, and it has serious repercussions.

(See Figure 2. Global Temperature and Carbon Dioxide Levels)
Why should we care about global warming? Well, there are many reasons, but let us focus on earth’s water cycle. Middle schoolers know that water evaporates from the oceans, rises into the atmosphere where it cools, condenses, and falls back onto earth as rain or snow. When the oceans warm, the evaporation increases, and the warmer atmosphere can hold more water vapour. Water laden atmosphere results in severe and erratic weather. Ironically, water vapour is also a greenhouse gas, and this has a snowballing effect. The increased ocean temperature also disrupts ocean currents that influence the weather on land. The combined result is extreme and severe weather: violent storms and droughts depending on the geographic location. What is happening on the West coast of the USA is an example. The net result will be major departures from what is considered normal weather over millennia.
International organisations have been talking for 30 years about limiting global temperature increase to 1.5oC above pre-industrial levels by curtailing greenhouse gas emissions. But not much has been done and the temperature has risen by 1.2oC already. The challenge is that even if we can stop greenhouse gas emissions completely, right now, we have the problem of removing already existing 2,500 billion tons of carbon from the atmosphere, for which there are no practical solutions yet. Scientists worry about the consequences of runaway temperature increase and its effect on human life, which are many. It is not a doomsday prediction of life disappearing from earth, but a warning that life will be quite different from what humans are used to. All small tropical nations like ours are burdened with mitigating the consequences; in other words, get ready for more Ditwahs, do not wait for the twelve-day forecast.
Some opined that not enough warning was given regarding Ditwah; the truth is that the tools available for long-term prediction of the path or severity of a weather event (cyclone, typhoon, hurricane, tornado) are not perfect. There are multitude of rapidly changing factors contributing to the behavior of weather events. Meteorologists feed most up to date data to different computer models and try to identify the prediction with the highest probability. The multiple predictions for the same weather event are represented by what is known as spaghetti plots. Figure 3 shows the forecasted paths of a 2019 Atlantic hurricane five days ahead on the right and the actual path it followed on the left. While the long-term prediction of the path of a cyclone remains less accurate, its strength can vary within hours. There are several Indian ocean cyclones tracking sites online accessible to the public.

Figure 3. Forecasting vs Reality
There is no argument that short-term forecasts of this nature are valuable in saving lives and movable assets, but having long term plans in place to mitigate the effects of natural disasters is much more important than that. If a sizable section of the population must start over their lives from ground zero after every storm, how can a country economically develop?
The degree of our unpreparedness came to light during Ditwah disaster. It is not for lack of awareness; judging by the deluge of newspaper articles, blogs, vlogs, and speeches made, there is no shortage of knowledge and technical expertise to meet the challenge. The government has assured the necessary resources, and there is good reason to trust that the funds will be spent properly and not to line the pockets as happened during previous disasters. However, history tells us that despite the right conditions and good intentions, we could miss the opportunity again. Reasons for such skepticisms emerged during the few meetings the President held with the bureaucrats while visiting effected areas. Also, the COPE committee meetings plainly display the inherent inefficiencies and irregularities of our system and the absence of work ethics among all levels of the bureaucracy.
What it tells us is that we as a nation have an attitude problem. There are ample scholarly analyses by local as well as international researchers on this aspect of Sri Lankan psyche, and they label it as either island or colonial mentality. The first refers to the notion of isolated communities perceiving themselves as exceptional or superior to the rest of the world, and that the world is hell-bent on destroying or acquiring what they have. This attitude is exacerbated by the colonial mentality that promoted the divide and conquer rules and applied it to every societal characteristic imaginable; and plundered natural resources. As a result, now we are divided along ethnic, linguistic, religious, political, class, caste, geography, wealth, and many more real and imagined lines. Sadly, politicians, some religious leaders, and other opportunists keep inflaming these sentiments for their benefit when most of the population is willing to move on.
The first wish, therefore, is to get the strength, courage, and wisdom to think rationally, and discard outdated and outmoded belief systems that hinder our progress as a nation. May we get the courage to stop venerating elite who got there by exploiting the masses and the country’s wealth. More importantly, may we get the wisdom to educate the next generation to be free thinkers, give them the power and freedom to reject fabrications, myths, and beliefs that are not based on objective facts.
This necessitates altering our attitude towards many aspects of life. There is no doubt that free thinking does not come easily, it involves the proverbial ‘exterminating the consecrated bull.’ We are rightfully proud about our resplendent past. It is true that hydraulic engineering, art, and architecture flourished during the Anuradhapura period.
However, for one reason or another, we have lost those skills. Nowadays, all irrigation projects are done with foreign aid and assistance. The numerous replicas of the Avukana statue made with the help of modern technology, for example, cannot hold a candle to the real one. The fabled flying machine of Ravana is a figment of marvelous imagination of a skilled poet. Reality is that today we are a nation struggling with both natural and human-caused disasters, and dependent on the generosity of other nations, especially our gracious neighbor. Past glory is of little help in solving today’s problems.
Next comes national unity. Our society is so fragmented that no matter how beneficial a policy or an idea for the nation could be, some factions will oppose it, not based on facts, but by giving into propaganda created for selfish purposes. The island mentality is so pervasive, we fail to trust and respect fellow citizens, not to mention the government. The result is absence of long-term planning and stability. May we get the insight to separate policy from politics; to put nation first instead of our own little clan, or personal gains.
With increasing population and decreasing livable and arable land area, a national land management system becomes crucial. We must have an intelligent zoning system to prevent uncontrolled development. Should we allow building along waterways, on wetlands, and road easements? Should we not put the burden of risk on the risk takers using an insurance system instead of perpetual public aid programs? We have lost over 95% of the forest cover we had before European occupation. Forests function as water reservoirs that release rainwater gradually while reducing soil erosion and stabilizing land, unlike monocultures covering the hill country, the catchments of many rivers. Should we continue to allow uncontrolled encroachment of forests for tourism, religious, or industrial purposes, not to mention personal enjoyment of the elite? Is our use of land for agricultural purposes in keeping with changing global markets and local labor demands? Is haphazard subsistence farming viable? What would be the impact of sea level rising on waterways in low lying areas?
These are only a few aspects that future generations will have to grapple with in mitigating the consequences of worsening climate conditions. We cannot ignore the fact that weather patterns will be erratic and severe, and that will be the new normal. Survival under such conditions involves rational thinking, objective fact based planning, and systematic execution with long term nation interests in mind. That cannot be achieved with hanging onto outdated and outmoded beliefs, rituals, and traditions. Weather changes are not caused by divine interventions or planetary alignments as claimed by astrologers. Let us resolve to lay the foundation for bringing up the next generation that is capable of rational thinking and be different from their predecessors, in a better way.
by Geewananda Gunawardana
Features
From Diyabariya to Duberria: Lanka’s Forgotten Footprint in Global Science
For centuries, Sri Lanka’s biological knowledge travelled the world — anonymously. Embedded deep within the pages of European natural history books, Sinhala words were copied, distorted and repurposed, eventually fossilising into Latinised scientific names of snakes, bats and crops found thousands of kilometres away.
Africa’s reptiles, Europe’s taxonomic catalogues and global field guides still carry those echoes, largely unnoticed and uncredited.
Now, a Sri Lankan herpetologist is tracing those forgotten linguistic footprints back to their source.
Through painstaking archival research into 17th- and 18th-century zoological texts, herpetologist and taxonomic researcher Sanjaya Bandara has uncovered compelling evidence that several globally recognised scientific names — long assumed to be derived from Greek or Latin — are in fact rooted in Sinhala vernacular terms used by villagers, farmers and hunters in pre-colonial Sri Lanka.
“Scientific names are not just labels. They are stories,” Bandara told The Island. “And in many cases, those stories begin right here in Sri Lanka.”

Sanjaya Bandara
At the heart of Bandara’s work is etymology — the study of word origins — a field that plays a crucial role in zoology and taxonomy.
While classical languages dominate scientific nomenclature, his findings reveal that Sinhala words were quietly embedded in the foundations of modern biological classification as early as the 1700s.
One of the most striking examples is Ahaetulla, the genus name for Asian vine snakes. “The word Ahaetulla is not Greek or Latin at all,” Bandara explained. “It comes directly from the Sinhala vernacular used by locals for the Green Vine Snake.” Remarkably, the term was adopted by Carl Linnaeus himself, the father of modern taxonomy.
Another example lies in the vespertilionid bat genus Kerivoula, described by British zoologist John Edward Gray. Bandara notes that the name is a combination of the Sinhala words kiri (milky) and voula (bat). Even the scientific name of finger millet, Eleusine coracana, carries linguistic traces of the Sinhala word kurakkan, a cereal cultivated in Sri Lanka for centuries.
Yet Bandara’s most intriguing discoveries extend far beyond the island — all the way to Africa and the Mediterranean.
In a research paper recently published in the journal Bionomina, Bandara presented evidence that two well-known snake genera, Duberria and Malpolon, both described in 1826 by Austrian zoologist Leopold Fitzinger, likely originated from Sinhala words.
The name Duberria first appeared in Robert Knox’s 1681 account of Ceylon, where Knox refers to harmless water snakes called “Duberria” by locals. According to Bandara, this was a mispronunciation of Diyabariya, the Sinhala term for water snakes.
“Mispronunciations are common in Knox’s writings,” Bandara said. “English authors of the time struggled with Sinhala phonetics, and distorted versions of local names entered European literature.”
Over time, these distortions became formalised. Today, Duberria refers to African slug-eating snakes — a genus geographically distant, yet linguistically tethered to Sri Lanka.
Bandara’s study also proposes the long-overdue designation of a type species for the genus, reviving a 222-year-old scientific name in the process.
Equally compelling is the case of Malpolon, the genus of Montpellier snakes found across North Africa, the Middle East and southern Europe. Bandara traced the word back to a 1693 work by English zoologist John Ray, which catalogued snakes from Dutch India — including Sri Lanka.
“The term Malpolon appears alongside Sinhala vernacular names,” Bandara noted. “It is highly likely derived from Mal Polonga, meaning ‘flowery viper’.” Even today, some Sri Lankan communities use Mal Polonga to describe patterned snakes such as the Russell’s Wolf Snake.
Bandara’s research further reveals Sinhala roots in the African Red-lipped Herald Snake (Crotaphopeltis hotamboeia), whose species name likely stems from Hothambaya, a regional Sinhala term for mongooses and palm civets.
“These findings collectively show that Sri Lanka was not just a source of specimens, but a source of knowledge,” Bandara said. “Early European naturalists relied heavily on local names, local guides and local ecological understanding.”
Perhaps the most frequently asked question Bandara encounters concerns the mighty Anaconda. While not a scientific name, the word itself is widely believed to be a corruption of the Sinhala Henakandaya, another snake name recorded in Ray’s listings of Sri Lankan reptiles.
“What is remarkable,” Bandara reflected, “is that these words travelled across continents, entered global usage, and remained there — often stripped of their original meanings.”
For Bandara, restoring those meanings is about more than taxonomy. It is about reclaiming Sri Lanka’s rightful place in the history of science.
“With this study, three more Sinhala words formally join scientific nomenclature,” he said.
“Who would have imagined that a Sinhala word would be used to name a snake in Africa?”
Long before biodiversity hotspots became buzzwords and conservation turned global, Sri Lanka’s language was already speaking through science — quietly, persistently, and across continents.
By Ifham Nizam
Features
Children first – even after a disaster
However, the children and their needs may be forgotten after a disaster.
Do not forget that children will also experience fear and distress although they may not have the capacity to express their emotions verbally. It is essential to create child-friendly spaces that allow them to cope through play, draw, and engage in supportive activities that help them process their experiences in a healthy manner.
The Institute for Research & Development in Health & Social Care (IRD), Sri Lanka launched the campaign, titled “Children first,” after the 2004 Tsunami, based on the fundamental principle of not to medicalise the distress but help to normalise it.

The Island picture page
The IRD distributed drawing material and play material to children in makeshift shelters. Some children grabbed drawing material, but some took away play material. Those who choose drawing material, drew in different camps, remarkably similar pictures; “how the tidal wave came”.
“The Island” supported the campaign generously, realising the potential impact of it.
The campaign became a popular and effective public health intervention.
“A public health intervention (PHI) is any action, policy, or programme designed to improve health outcomes at the population level. These interventions focus on preventing disease, promoting health, and protecting communities from health threats. Unlike individual healthcare interventions (treating individuals), which target personal health issues, public health interventions address collective health challenges and aim to create healthier environments for all.”
The campaign attracted highest attention of state and politicians.
The IRD continued this intervention throughout the protracted war, and during COVID-19.
The IRD quick to relaunch the “children first” campaign which once again have received proper attention by the public.
While promoting a public health approach to handling the situation, we would also like to note that there will be a significant smaller percentage of children and adolescents will develop mental health disorders or a psychiatric diagnosis.
We would like to share the scientific evidence for that, revealed through; the islandwide school survey carried out by the IRD in 2007.
During the survey, it was found that the prevalence of emotional disorder was 2.7%, conduct disorder 5.8%, hyperactivity disorder was 0.6%, and 8.5% were identified as having other psychiatric disorders. Absenteeism was present in 26.8%. Overall, previous exposure to was significantly associated with absenteeism whereas exposure to conflict was not, although some specific conflict-related exposures were significant risk factors. Mental disorder was strongly associated with absenteeism but did not account for its association with tsunami or conflict exposure.
The authors concluded that exposure to traumatic events may have a detrimental effect on subsequent school attendance. This may give rise to perpetuating socioeconomic inequality and needs further research to inform policy and intervention.
Even though, this small but significant percentage of children with psychiatric disorders will need specialist interventions, psychological treatment more than medication. Some of these children may complain of abdominal pain and headaches or other physical symptoms for which doctors will not be able to find a diagnosable medical cause. They are called “medically unexplained symptoms” or “somatization” or “bodily distress disorder”.
Sri Lanka has only a handful of specialists in child and adolescent psychiatric disorders but have adult psychiatrists who have enough experience in supervising care for such needy children. Compared to tsunami, the numbers have gone higher from around 20 to over 100 psychiatrists.
Most importantly, children absent from schools will need more close attention by the education authorities.
In conclusion, going by the principles of research dissemination sciences, it is extremely important that the public, including teachers and others providing social care, should be aware that the impact of Cyclone Ditwah, which was followed by major floods and landslides, which is a complex emergency impact, will range from normal human emotional behavioural responses to psychiatric illnesses. We should be careful not to medicalise this normal distress.
It’s crucial to recall an important statement made by the World Health Organisation following the Tsunam
Prof. Sumapthipala MBBS, DFM, MD Family Medicine, FSLCFP (SL), FRCPsych, CCST (UK), PhD (Lon)]
Director, Institute for Research and Development in Health and Social Care, Sri Lanka
Emeritus Professor of Psychiatry, School of Medicine, Faculty of Medicine & Health Sciences, Keele University, UK
Emeritus Professor of Global Mental Health, Kings College London
Secretary General, International society for Twin Studies
Visiting Professor in Psychiatry and Biomedical Research at the Faculty of Medicine, Kotelawala Defence University, Sri Lanka
Associate Editor, British Journal Psychiatry
Co-editor Ceylon Medical Journal.
Prof. Athula Sumathipala
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