Features
Some anecdotes on working with President Premadasa at the Education Ministry
Wishing Lalith A on his birthday and being woken up by a 4.30 am phone call by the president
President Premadasa, continued to be Minister until his tragic assassination on May 1, 1993. The hallmark of his tenure as Minister of Education and Higher Education was his strict non-interference in the day to day running of the Ministry. Very early on, he told me “Dharmasiri, you are a senior and experienced Secretary. You run the Ministry. Get the other Ministers also involved. I will hold a “Mini Cabinet” meeting once a month. In the meantime, if there is anything of a political nature you are not sure about, and about which you want some clarification, don’t bother to come and see me. Just give me a call anytime.” This is exactly how we functioned. He never disturbed and rarely did I have to disturb him either. Nor did I meet him except at the monthly meeting.
The President also did not interfere or bring any pressure to bear on the eternal question of school admissions. On just a couple of occasions when he felt constrained to send a small list, it was with specific instructions that it was to be done only if possible. The officer who brought the list emphasized this point. However, occasionally he checked you out on matters. He told me one day that he wanted to visit the National Institute of Education at Maharagama. He had never been there before. A date and time were fixed.
The visit was to take place at 9 a.m. and I was to meet him there, along with other relevant officials. But early in the morning of the appointed day, I received a telephone call from his private residence “Sucharitha” requesting me to come there at 8 a.m. and join him in his car, because he wanted to discuss some matters with me. When I went there I got the thoughtful but standard treatment of being served with a variety of short-eats followed by tea or coffee. This comes quickly, like a drill, a few minutes after you go in and sit in the waiting room.
After sometime, the security officers asked me to go and be beside the official Mercedes Benz car he was using since the President was about to come. He came out, but turned back, evidently because he had forgotten something. By that time he had seen me and he immediately turned and said “Why are you standing? Please get into the car. I will come in a moment.” That was a demonstration of great politeness on his part. But I for my part did not think it polite to get into the back seat and sit before the President got in. Therefore, I kept on standing which was only for a few moments.
Again, when he came out, he asked me “Why didn’t you sit?” Thereafter, we got in, and on the way to Maharagama he asked me a number of questions pertaining to education, especially on teacher training, curriculum development and examinations. By now, I was pretty thorough with the policies, practices and projections. and was able to answer all his questions. He was very satisfied. He thought we were on the right track. He then said something that still showed his frustration with his Ministers. He aid “I have told my Ministers several times to go out into the field and see things for themselves, and not depend on reports. But I still can’t get them to do it.”

With Senior Minister Mr. Sirisena Cooray and Minister of Education Services Mrs. Sunethra Ranasinghe
It was clear that the President thought that his Ministers were not working in the manner and at the pressure he wanted them to. With him, if you worked hard and was up to date there was no problem at all. He was courteous, polite and not difficult to work with. After all, he had the right to expect competence and performance from his Ministers and officials.
Very soon, I was faced with a difficult problem in the prevailing context. Mr. Athulathmudali’s birthday was due shortly and in some of the previous years, on his invitation, I had dropped in at his residence in order to wish him. Now, he was out of the system, in the process of forming a new party and the relations between the President and himself indescribably bad. I however felt personally sensitive to the fact that if I did not go and wish him so soon after his leaving, although I knew that he would understand, it was something that was morally reprehensible to me. It appeared to me like cowardice. I also did not like to sneak into his house in some clandestine fashion. I therefore had to tell the President. Given the existing circumstances this certainly required great courage. To my advantage was the frank nature I possessed and a complete lack of fear of authority born out of an inner confidence that I, to the best of my understanding, knowledge and experience always attempted to do the right thing.
Therefore, when a few days before Mr. Athulathmudali’s birthday, I happened to meet the President in his office on an official matter, I took the opportunity to speak with him after the meeting. I told him that Mr. Athulathmudali was my Minister in two Ministries, explained how I happened to drop in on his birthday on his invitation on previous occasions and expressed that I would be extremely unhappy if I couldn’t do it this time, particularly when he had left us only a short while earlier. I concluded by saying that I did not want to go without informing him.
The President, I could see was taken utterly by surprise. His initial reaction was “Alright.” Then when he apparently recovered his wits he said, “But can’t you telephone and wish him?” I told him to please permit me to personally go at least this time. “Thereafter I will telephone,” I said. He nodded. My friends were amazed that I had “the guts” or “the stupidity” to speak to the President on such a sensitive and to him such an unpalatable matter. In my view what stood me in good stead was the recognition on of my track record that I did everything openly. That is why he signed 11 Cabinet papers and two Supplementary Estimates blindly on the first day he came to office as Minister of Education and Higher Education. He knew that I had nothing to do with politics and that my request to visit Mr. Athulathmudali had a valid context.
As I have enumerated, my relations with President Premadasa were based on certain proprieties, such as non interference and a disciplined impersonal approach by both sides. There were times however when the relationship was not so smooth. The first blip so to speak on a clear screen came when one day I was woken up at 4.30 in the morning. It was well known that the President who got up very early started telephoning various public servants and sometimes even Ministers from about 4.30 a.m. onward. I had so far escaped this attention.
On the other hand, to me this was a fundamental issue. I always had particularly long days getting to bed only after midnight. Invariably the first telephone call to disturb the peace at home came by about 6.30 a.m., sometimes by about 6 a.m. It was clear that I desperately needed to get at least six hours of continuous sleep. If this was not possible, my health or possibly even my life could be endangered. I was also now in a situation where certain meetings, discussions and negotiations which would have been conducted by a Minister, if we had a full-time one, devolved on me, the President himself referring various matters and various groups to me.
I had discussed this whole issue with my wife and we had both agreed that minimum sleep was an absolutely bottom line. I had made up my mind that if I could not even get six hours of sleep, it would be unwise for me to continue in the public service. Matters were at this when I heard the parallel telephone line beside my bed ringing one day distantly as if in a dream. This naturally woke up my wife as well, and when I answered the phone. It was the President’s valet Mohideen, who asked me to hold on because the President wished to speak to me.
Mr. Premadasa then came on the line, and breezily wished me “good morning.” I was both still sleepy and not pleased and mumbled something which must have sounded as an unethusiastic greeting. “Did I wake you?” inquired the President knowing very well that he had indeed done so. “Yes.” I promptly replied adding “I am a late sleeper.” By this what I meant was that I sleep late and therefore get up late. He may or may not have caught the full meaning and might have thought that what I said was that I get up late. For a moment there was something like a surprised silence, followed by some nervous laughter, and then he got to the point and gave me the instructions that he wanted to give. There were nothing in them that should have warranted waking someone at 4.30 a.m. as I found out when I checked on the time after the conversation.
On the other hand I had evidently made my position clear. I concluded from the President’s tone and manner that nobody else seemed to have said what I said and certainly not in the forthright manner in which I said it. This was the last straw and I was not prepared to let it break this camel’s back. After the episode, he never rang me till after 6 a.m. and that too most infrequently. One particular day only he rang me earlier at around 5.30 a.m. ending his conversation by saying “I am going out of Colombo now.” By saying this, he was kind enough to indicate to me that that was the reason for telephoning me early.
There were occasions I argued strenuously with him although his face looked very grim when I did so. One such occasion was when he wanted to setup school boards in every school consisting of representatives of parents, teachers, past pupils and certain selected representatives of the local community. As a concept it was excellent. It would have been the beginning of involving the schools with the community instead of being totally subject to a bureaucracy. The problem was that the President wanted to set up these Boards immediately using the emergency regulations. That was his nature.
When he thought that an idea was good, he wanted it implemented from day before yesterday. I argued with him that this would be self defeating; that it would attract serious opposition; that people would see some hidden agenda in the move when in reality there was none; and that we needed a month or two of careful preparation and if possible trying it out as a pilot project in a few areas first, before going all island. The President did not agree. He did not specifically say so, but it was evident from his demeanour that he considered all these arguments as typical of a bureaucratic system’s inherent propensity for delay.
Therefore, he went ahead. Emergency regulations were gazetted. Then the flak started with a vengeance, with educationists, influential individuals, trade unions, the opposition parties, all attacking the proposal. The valuable concept of the school board was completely drowned out by the sustained attack on the emergency regulations aspect. The President was made out to be a dictator with a hidden agenda of curtailing free education in the country. Many interpreted this action as being due to coercion exercised on the government by the World Bank, which of course was a favourite whipping boy of dissidents of all hues and colours.
More the President tried to stubbornly persist in the scheme the greater the opposition grew. In the end a good scheme had at least temporarily to be abandoned. After this rather stormy episode, I found that he listened more carefully. When therefore, I telephoned and strongly advised him not to proceed with distributing some literature with a political content to the Ven. monks and lay persons who were due to gather in the main hall of the BM ICH for the 90th anniversary celebration of the oriental studies society of Sri Lanka, he somewhat reluctantly listened.
I regularly chaired the executive committee meetings of this society. In the committee too, there were scholar monks who were strongly identified with the two main political parties. We did not permit anything of apolitical nature to interfere with the scholarly work of the society. The committee functioned in great harmony. Had the President gone ahead with his scheme, I was convinced that several monks and laymen would have got up and challenged the President publicly, as to the relevance of the distributed literature to the important occasion that evening. The meeting would then have ended in disorder, with large sections shouting and walking out. In the end we had a most peaceful and harmonious meeting, with the President being so gracious as to refer to my grandfather as a founder member of the society, and my own role in carrying the work of the society forward.
(Excerpted from In Pursuit of Governance, autobiography of MDD Pieris)
Features
Federalism and paths to constitutional reform
S. J. V. Chelvanayakam: Visionary and Statesman
S. J. V. Chelvanayakam KC Memorial Lecture Delivered at Jaffna Central Collage on Sunday, 26 April, by Professor G. L. Peiris – D. Phil. (Oxford), Ph. D. (Sri Lanka); Rhodes Scholar, Quondam Visiting Fellow of the Universities of Oxford, Cambridge and London; Former Vice-Chancellor and Emeritus Professor of Law of the University of Colombo.
I. Life and Career
Had Mr. Chelvanayakam been with us today, he would no doubt be profoundly unhappy with the state of our country and the world.
Samuel James Velupillai Chelvanayakam was born on 31 March, 1898, in the town of Ipoh, in Malaya. When he was four years of age, he was sent by his father, along with his mother, for the purpose of his education to Tellippalai, a traditional village at the northern tip of Sri Lanka, or Ceylon as the country was then called, in close proximity to the port of Kankesanturai. He attended three schools, Union College in Tellippalai, St John’s College Jaffna and S. Thomas’ College Mount Lavinia, where he was a contemporary of S. W. R. D. Bandaranaike, with whom he was later destined to sign the Bandaranaike-Chelvanayakam Pact.
He graduated in Science as an external student of the University of London, in 1918. In 1927, he married Emily Grace Barr-Kumarakulasinghe, daughter of the Maniyagar, or administrative chief for the area, appointed by the colonial government. He had four sons and a daughter. His son, S. C. Chandrahasan, worked closely with me during my time as Foreign Minister on the subject of repatriation of refugees from India. Chandrahasan’s wife, Nirmala, daughter of Dr. E. M. V. Naganathan, was a colleague of mine on the academic staff of the University of Colombo.
Mr. Chelvanayakam first contested the Kankesanturai constituency at the parliamentary election of 1947. His was a long parliamentary career. He resigned from his parliamentary seat in opposition to the first Republican Constitution of 1972, but was re-elected overwhelmingly at a by-election in 1975. He died on 26 April, 1977.
There are many strong attributes which shine through his life and career.
He consistently showed courage and capacity for endurance. He had no hesitation in resigning from employment, which gave him comfort and security, to look after a younger brother who was seriously ill. As his son-in-law, Professor A.J. Wilson remarked, he learned to move in two worlds: a product of missionary schools, he was a devout Christian who never changed his religion for political gain. He was, quite definitely, a Hindu by culture, and never wished to own a house in Colombo for fear that his children would be alienated from their roots.
Gentle and self-effacing by disposition, he manifested the steel in his character by not flinching from tough decisions. Never giving in to expediency, differences of principle with Mr. G. G. Ponnambalam, the leader of the All Ceylon Tamil Congress, of which Mr. Chelvanayakam was a principal organiser, led him to break away from the Congress and to form a new party, the Ilankai Tamil Arasu Kachchi, or the Federal Party.
During the disturbances in March and April, 1958, he was charged in the Magistrate’s Court in Batticaloa and sentenced to a week’s imprisonment. He was also subject to house arrest, but he never resorted to violence and used satyagraha to make his voice heard. When, in 1961, he was medically advised to travel to the United Kingdom for surgical treatment, he had to be escorted to the airport by the police because he was still under detention. Although physically frail and ailing in health during his final years, he lost none of the indomitable spirit which typified his entire life.
II. Advocacy of Federalism: Origins and Context
At the core of political convictions he held sacrosanct was his unremitting commitment to federalism. A moment of fruition in his life was the formation of the Federal Party, Ilankai Tamil Arasu Kachchi, on 18 December, 1949.
Contrary to popular belief, however, federalism in our country had its origin in issues which were not connected with ethnicity. At its inception, this had to do with the aspirations, not of the Tamils, but of the Kandyan Sinhalese. The Kandyan National Assembly, in its representations to the Donoughmore Commission, in November, 1927, declared: “Ours is not a communal claim or a claim for the aggrandizement of a few. It is the claim of a nation to live its own life and realise its own destiny”.
Mr. S. W. R. D. Bandaranaike, soon after his return from Oxford, as a prominent member of the Ceylon National Congress, was an ardent advocate of federalism. He went so far as to characterise federalism as “the only solution to our political problems”. With Thomas Hobbes in his famous work, The Leviathan, he conceived of liberty as “political power broken into fragments”. Bandaranaike went on to state in a letter published in The Morning Leader on 19 May, 1926: “The two clashing forces of cooperation and individualism, like that thread of golden light which Walter Pater observed in the works of the painters of the Italian Renaissance, run through the fabric of civilisation, sometimes one predominating, sometimes the other. To try and harmonise the two has been the problem of the modern world. The only satisfactory solution yet discovered is the federal system”.
Federalism had a strong ideological appeal, from a Marxist-Leninist perspective. The constitutional proposals, addressed by the Communist Party of Ceylon to the Ceylon National Congress on 18 October, 1944, go very far indeed. They envisioned the Sinhalese and the Tamils as two distinct “nations” or “historically evolved nationalities”. The high watermark of the proposals was the assertion that “Both nationalities have their right to self-determination, including the right, if they so desire, to form their own separate independent state”.
These proposals received further elaboration in a memorandum submitted to the Working Committee of the Ceylon National Congress by two leading members of the Communist Party, Mr. Pieter Keuneman and Mr. A. Vaidialingam. Their premise was set out pithily as follows: “We regard a nation as a historical, as opposed to an ethnographical, concept. It is a historically evolved, stable community of people living in a contiguous territory as their traditional homeland”.
The Soulbury Commission, which arrived in the country in December, 1944, had no hesitation in recognising that “The relations of the minorities – the Ceylon Tamils, the Indian Tamils, Muslims, Burghers and Europeans, with the Sinhalese majority – present the most difficult of the many problems involved in the reform of the Constitution of Ceylon”.
They took fully into account the apprehension expressed by the All Ceylon Tamil Congress that “The near approach of the complete transfer of power and authority from neutral British hands to the people of this country is causing, in the minds of the Tamil people, in common with other minorities, much misgiving and fear”.
III. Constitutional Provisions at Independence
The Souldbury Commission, like the Donoughmore Commission before it, was not friendly to the idea of federalism, principally because of their commitment to the unity of the body politic. Opting for a solution, falling short of federalism, they adopted the approach that, if the underlying fear related to encroachment on seminal rights by capricious legislative action, this anxiety could be convincingly assuaged by enshrining in the Constitution a nucleus of rights placed beyond the reach of the legislature.
The essence of the solution, which commended itself to the Soulbury Commission, was a carefully crafted constitutional limitation on the legislative competence of Parliament, encapsulated in Article 29(2) of the Independence Constitution. The gist of this was incorporation of the principle of non-discrimination against racial or religious communities by explicit acknowledgement of equal protection under the law.
The assumption fortifying this expectation was the attribution of an imaginative role to the judiciary in respect of interpretation. It was lack of fulfillment in this regard that precipitated a setback which time could not heal. Judicial attitudes, including those of the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, which constituted at the time the highest tier of the judicial hierarchy, were timid and diffident.
When the Citizenship Act of 1948, by means of a new definition, sought to deprive Tamils of Indian origin of the suffrage, no protection was forthcoming from the courts on the ground of impermissible discrimination. This refusal of intervention was premised on an implausibly narrow construction of the word “community”, in that, according to the Courts’ reasoning, in the landmark case of Kodakkan Pillai v. Madanayake, Indian Tamils were not identifiable as a community distinct from the larger community of the Tamils of Ceylon. It is hard to disguise the reality that this was, at bottom, a refusal to deal with the substantive issues candidly and frontally.
The resulting vulnerability of minority rights, which judicial evasion laid bare, was a major contributory cause of the erosion of confidence on the part of minority groups. This mood of suspicion and despair, arising from an ostensibly weak method of protection of human rights, presaged ensuing developments.
IV. Further Quest for a Constitutional Solution

Chelvanayakam
The central theme of this lecture, in honour of a statesman who was an epitome of restraint and moderation, is that the deterioration of ethnic relations, which culminated in a war of unrivalled savagery over a span of three decades, was progressive and incremental. There was no inevitability about the denouement. It was gradual and potentially reversible. At several crucial points, there was opportunity to arrest a disastrous trend. These windows of opportunity, however, were not utilised: extremist attitudes asserted themselves, and polarisation became the outcome. This trajectory was, no doubt, met with dismay by far-sighted leaders of the calibre of Mr. Chelvanayakam.
The formation of the Federal Party was a turning point. With Mr. S.J.V. Chelvanayakam, King’s Counsel, as founder-president, and Dr. E.M.V. Naganathan and Mr. V. Navaratnam as joint secretaries, the party embarked on a journey which marked a radical departure from the conventional thinking of the past. This was plain from the text of seven resolutions adopted at the national convention of the party held in Trincomalee in April, 1951. The foundation of these resolutions was the call to establish a Tamil state within the Union of Ceylon, and the uncompromising assertion that no other solution was feasible.
The path was now becoming manifest. The demand up to now had been for substantial power sharing within a unitary state. This was now giving way to a strident demand for the emergence of a federal structure, destined to be expanded in the fullness of time to advocacy of secession.
Although standing out boldly as a landmark in constitutional evolution, the Federal Party resolutions did not carry on their face the hallmark of finality or immutability. The call of the Tamil leadership for secession yet being some years away, the ensuing decades saw further attempts by different governments to resolve the vexed issues around power sharing.
The first of these was the Bandaranaike-Chelvanayakam pact, signed by the Prime Minister and the leader of the Federal Party on 26 July, 1957. There was an air of uneasy compromise surrounding the entire transaction. This was evident from the structure of the pact, which, as one of its integral parts, contained a section not reduced to writing in any form, but consisting of a series of informal understandings.
The essence of the pact was the proposed system of regional councils which were envisaged as an intermediary tier between the central government and local government institutions. This did break new ground. Not only did the pact confer on the people of the North and East a substantial measure of self-governance through these innovative councils, including in such inherently controversial areas as colonisation, irrigation and local management, but territorial units were conceived of as the recipients of devolved powers. Of particular significance, the regional councils were to be invested with some measure of financial autonomy. The blowback, however, was so intense as to compel the government to abrogate the pact.
The next attempt, eight years later, was by the United National Party, which had vehemently opposed the Bandaranaike–Chelvanayakam Pact. This was the Dudley Senanayake–Chelvanayakam Pact, signed between the leader of the United National Party, at the time Leader of the Opposition, and the leader of the Federal Party. It differed from the Bandaranaike–Chelvanayakam Pact, both contextually and substantively.
As to context, it was signed on 24 March, 1965, on the eve of a parliamentary election, to ensure for the United National Party the support of the Federal Party. A disheartening feature was the plainly evident element of duplicity. Once in government, the Prime Minister’s party showed little interest in implementing the pact. Within three years, the Federal Party left the government, and its representative in the cabinet, Mr M. Tiruchelvam QC, Minister of Local Government, relinquished his portfolio.
Substantively, the lynchpin of the pact was a system of district councils, but there was entrenched control of these bodies by the central government, even in regard to action within their vires. This was almost universally seen as a sleight of hand.
Despite the collapse of these efforts, room for resilience and accommodation had by no means disappeared. Nowhere is this better exemplified than in the events which led up to the drafting and adoption of the “autochthonous” Constitution of 1972. This involved the historic task of severing the centuries-old bond with the British Crown and bringing into being the Republic of Sri Lanka.
One of the Basic Resolutions, which eventually found expression as Article 2 of the new Constitution, characterised Sri Lanka as a unitary state. The Federal Party proposed an amendment that the word “federal” should be substituted for “unitary”. Mr. V. Dharmalingam, the spokesman for the party on this subject, in his address to the Constituent Assembly, on 16 March, 1971, showed flexibility by declaring that the powers of the federating units and their relationship to the centre were negotiable, once the principle of federalism was accepted. Indivisibility of the Republic was emphatically articulated, self-determination in its external aspect being firmly ruled out.
There was no reciprocity, however. Mr. Sarath Muttettuwegama, administering a sharp rebuke, declared: “Federalism has become something of a dirty word in the southern parts of this country”. The last opportunity to halt the inexorable march of events was spurned.
The pushback came briskly, and with singular ferocity. This was in the form of the Vaddukoddai Resolution adopted by the Tamil United Liberation Front at its first national convention held on 14 May, 1976. The historic significance of this document is that it set out, for the first time, in the most unambiguous terms, the blueprint for an independent state for the Tamil nation, embracing the merged Northern and Eastern Provinces. The second part of the Resolution contained the nucleus of Tamil Eelam, its scope extending beyond the shores of the Island. The state of Tamil Eelam was to be home not only to the people of the Northern and Eastern Provinces, but to “all Tamil-speaking people living in any part of Ceylon and to Tamils of Eelam origin living in any part of the world who may opt for citizenship of Tamil Eelam”.
The most discouraging element of this sequence of events was the timid and evasive approach adopted by prominent actors at crucial moments. The District Development Councils Act of 1980 presented a unique opportunity. Disappointingly, however, the Presidential Commission, presided over by Mr. Victor Tennekoon QC, a former Chief Justice and Attorney General, lacked the courage even to interpret the terms of reference as permitting allusion to the ethnic conflict. Despite the persevering efforts of Professor A.J. Wilson, son-in-law of Mr. Chelvanayakam, and a confidant of President J.R. Jayewardene, and Dr. Neelan Tiruchelvam, the majority of the members were inclined to adopt a narrow, technical interpretation of the terms of reference. The setting of the legislation was one in which Tamil formations, such as the Tamil United Liberation Front, were struggling to maintain their moderate postures in an increasingly polarised environment, with pressure from radical elements proving almost irresistible.
The whole initiative paled into insignificance in comparison with a series of tragic events, including the burning of the Jaffna library during the run-up to the District Development Council elections in the North and the calamitous events of Black July 1983. Policymakers, at a critical juncture, had, once again, let a limited opportunity slip through their fingers.
The next intervention occurred in the sunset years of the United National Party administration. This was the Parliamentary Select Committee on the ethnic conflict, known after its Chairman as the Mangala Moonesinghe Committee, appointed in August, 1991.
The Majority Report made a detailed proposal which was intended to serve as the basis of a compromise between two schools of thought—one stoutly resisting any idea of merger of the Northern and Eastern Provinces, and the other demanding such merger as the indispensable basis of a viable solution. An imaginative via media was the concept of the Apex Council, which formed the centrepiece of the Majority Report. It adopted as a point of departure two separate Provincial Councils for the North and the East. This dichotomy would characterise the provincial executive as well: each Provincial Council would have an Executive Minister as the head of the Board of Ministers. However, over and above these, the two Provincial Councils together would constitute a Regional Council for the entire North-East region. Although presenting several features of interest, as a pragmatic mediating mechanism, the proposal did not enjoy a sufficiently broad support base for implementation. (To be concluded)
Features
Procurement cuts, rising burn rates and shipment delays deepen energy threat
Coal crisis far worse than first feared
Sri Lanka’s coal supply crisis is significantly deeper than previously understood, with senior engineers and energy analysts warning that a dangerous combination of reduced procurement volumes, rising coal consumption and shipment delays could place national power generation at serious risk.
Information reviewed by The Island shows that Lanka Coal Company (LCC) had originally planned to secure 2.32 million metric tons of coal for the relevant supply period to meet generation requirements at the Lakvijaya coal power complex.
Following procurement discussions, the final arrangement was to obtain 840,000 metric tons from Potencia, including a 10 percent optional quantity, and 1.5 million metric tons from Trident, equivalent to 25 vessels.
However, subsequent decisions resulted in the cancellation of four Potencia shipments, reducing that supplier’s volume to 627,000 metric tons. This brought the total expected procurement down to 2.16 million metric tons, creating an immediate 160,000 metric ton deficit, even before operational demand is considered.
“This is a major shortfall in any generation planning model,” a senior engineer familiar with coal operations said. “When stocks are planned to the margin, a reduction of this scale can have serious consequences.”
Power sector sources said the deficit becomes more critical because coal consumption rates have increased by more than 10 percent, meaning larger volumes are now required to generate the same electricity output.
“In simple terms, the system is burning more coal for less efficiency,” an energy analyst told The Island. “That means the real shortage may be substantially larger than the paper shortage.”
Experts attributed the higher burn rate to ageing equipment, maintenance constraints and operating inefficiencies at the Norochcholai plant.
A third concern has now emerged in the form of shipment delays and possible unloading constraints, raising fears that even contracted supplies may not arrive in time to maintain safe reserve levels.
“If vessel schedules slip or unloading is disrupted, stocks can fall very quickly,” another senior engineer warned. “At that point, the country has little choice but to shift to costly thermal oil generation.”
Such a move would sharply increase electricity generation costs and place additional pressure on public finances.
Analysts said the convergence of three separate risks — procurement reductions, higher-than-expected consumption and delivery uncertainty — had created a serious energy planning challenge.
“This is no longer a routine procurement issue,” one industry observer said. “It has become a national power security issue.”
Calls are growing for authorities to disclose current coal inventories, incoming vessel schedules and contingency measures to reassure the public and industry.
With electricity demand expected to remain high and hydro resources dependent on rainfall, engineers caution that delays in addressing the coal gap could expose the country to avoidable supply disruptions in the months ahead.
By Ifham Nizam
Features
Lake Gregory boat accidents: Need to regulate water adventure tourism
LETTER
The capsizing of two boats in Lake Gregory on 19 April was merely an isolated incident. It has come as a stark and urgent warning that a far more serious tragedy is imminent unless decisive action is taken without delay.
Mayor of Nuwara Eliya, Upali Wanigasekera has publicly stated that stringent measures have been introduced to prevent similar occurrences. However, it must be noted that such measures are unlikely to yield meaningful results in the absence of a comprehensive regulatory framework governing Inland Water Adventure Tourism (IWAT) in Sri Lanka.
For decades, this sector has operated without any regulation. Despite repeated calls for reform, there remains no structured legal mechanism to oversee operational standards, safety compliance, or accountability. Consequently, there is chaos particularly in critical operational aspects of this otherwise vital tourism segment.
The situation in Lake Gregory is not unique. Other prominent inland tourism destinations, such as Kitulgala and Madu Ganga, face similar risks. Without urgent intervention, it is only a matter of time before a major calamity occurs, placing both local and foreign tourists in grave danger.
At present, there appear to be no enforceable legal requirements governing:
* The fitness for navigation of vessels
* Mandatory safety standards and equipment
* Certification and competency of boat operators
The display of permits issued by local authorities is often misleading. These permits function merely as revenue licences and should not be misconstrued as certification of compliance with safety or technical standards.
Furthermore, local authorities themselves appear constrained. The Nuwara Eliya Mayor is reportedly limited in his ability to enforce meaningful improvements due to the absence of legal backing. Compounding this issue is the proliferation of unauthorised operators at Lake Gregory, functioning with minimal oversight.
Disturbingly, there are credible concerns that some boat operators function under the influence of intoxicants, while enforcement authorities appear to maintain a lackadaisical stance. The parallels with the unregulated private transport sector are both evident and alarming.
In the absence of a proper legal framework, any victims of such incidents are left with no recourse but to pursue lengthy and uncertain claims under common law against individual operators.
The Minister of Tourism, this situation demands your immediate and personal intervention.
A robust regulatory framework for Inland Water Adventure Tourism must be urgently introduced and enforced. This should include licensing standards, safety regulations, operator certification, regular inspections, and strict penalties for non-compliance.
Failure to act now will not only endanger lives but also severely damage Sri Lanka’s reputation as a safe and responsible tourist destination.
The time for incremental measures has passed. What is required is decisive policy action.
Athula Ranasinghe
Public-Spirited Citizen
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S. J. V. Chelvanayakam KC Memorial Lecture Delivered at Jaffna Central Collage on Sunday, 26 April, by Professor G. L. Peiris – D. Phil. (Oxford), Ph. D. (Sri Lanka); Rhodes Scholar, Quondam Visiting Fellow of the Universities of Oxford, Cambridge and London; Former Vice-Chancellor and Emeritus Professor of Law of the University of Colombo.