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Sumathy’s Ingirunthu : (Here and Now)

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The Malaiyaha and Memory of the World 1823-2023

by Laleen Jayamanne

Continued From Yesterday

When Sivamohan was growing up in Jaffna in a Christian home (prior to the civil-war), her three sisters and mother listened to and also sang African-American Gospel music (what we then called Spirituals). She also said that her mother read poetry to her as a child, about the experience of slavery there, suggesting the source of that music. An awareness of the Blues came a little later, she said, perhaps, as I thought to myself, brought back by her older sisters (Nirmala and Rajani) returning from College, radicalised by their experiences in the US during the anti-Vietnam war and the Civil Rights Movements of the late 1960’s. Sivamohan’s autobiographical impulses, obliquely folded into this her first film, are important for me to acknowledge here, because they are undoubtedly a condition of its possibility, an integral part of its politics. A feminist politics too, which introduced the new idea that the ‘personal is also political.’ This scene in the restaurant therefore, is not a purely functional sociological scene locating the Researcher in Colombo. It’s edited with a feel for the mannerist rhythms of Georgia (just like Ray Charles’ iconic performance of it seen on You-Tube), which cut across time and space and connect with the feelings of loss and homesickness of the homeless Malaiyaham people of Lanka. Song can do this, especially the Blues.

On the estate, the Researcher is keen to hear about the history of a legendary militant female estate worker by the name of Meenakshi Amma, in the spirit of recovering a female oral-history of political struggle in the 1930s. As she enquires about her from the social worker on the estate, the film abruptly cuts to a surprising musical interlude of a young Meenaskshi Amma singing a song to ‘Lanka Matha’, (“Mother Lanka”) amidst tea bushes, surrounded by a few women dressed as they did in the archival photographs. The actress playing Meenakshi Amma is in a contemporary bright orange handloom sari and red blouse. It’s a startling interruption and moving in its intensity when the other women (young and old) join in chorus, one beating a hand drum and others carrying long poles, stretching out their right hands in a gesture of supplication (‘Aren’t we also yours?’) to Lanka Matha, even as they move slowly in a solemn procession through the tea bushes, to the pulse of the drum.

Meenashi Amma

There is another allegorical scene, equally startling for a different reason. A white manager of a plantation arrives on a white horse to examine if the male workers have pruned the tea bushes to the exact specification of 15 inches, no more, no less. As he gets off the horse, the overseer (or Kankani) swiftly opens up a black umbrella to shield the white master from the sun–though he wears a wide brimmed hat. With mounting melodramatic fury he shouts at the bent workers pruning with sharp knives, ordering them to prune at an exact 15 inches. As he yells at them, ‘Imbecile, Imbecile,’ one of the workers lunges at him with his knife which cuts to the master’s blood splattered face, then to drops of blood on unpruned tea leaves and then to what appears to be a totally severed white arm lying on the earth. There are no cries. The allegory cuts

deeply through its restrained melodramatic articulation, to an entire field of perfectly pruned brown tea stumps, concluding a melodramatic scene with an intensive epic-memory of the world, which includes the bloodied earth itself.

The Burning Tea Bush

However, the most startling disjunction happens when (at the ending of Meenakshi Amma’s collective song) the film cuts to Peter sitting, playing his accordion, beside a burning tea bush. It’s also an allegorical scene because the crackling flames don’t seem to burn up the tea bush. So, it evokes for me a biblical resonance with God manifesting through a burning bush, to address Moses at his most troubled moment in the desert when leading the exodus of former Jewish slaves to the promised land. A fiery image in a Tarkovsky film flashes by in memory. Burning a tea bush is illegal, a punishable offence, but it continues to burn and crackle without turning to ashes, while the accordion music floats in the night-time air. Here, Peter playing his accordion beside the fiery tea bush, becomes an iconic chorus powerfully crystalising many sensations, emotions and thoughts stirred up by the film; a memory of the world for sure.

That Ingirunthu could weave this heterogeneity of autonomus, intensive, poetically allegorical scenes and story lines of a marginalised community into a coherent whole of sorts, is a sign of the film’s inclusive, modern, epic-narrative vision. It is not a plotted film where all lines converge on a narrative resolution as a drama would. As Blackburn said, ‘the tension and obstacles to resolution’ of dramatic conflicts offer us a kind of creative opportunity rarely seen in films. The two sequences, of Meenakshi Amma’s song and Peter at the burning bush playing his accordion, offer startling poetic allegorical images, within a film which is about the epochal political history of exploitation of Malaiyaha labour, presented variously as a chronicle with archival documents, as well as enactments of everyday life through ethnographic observation and dramatized scenes. Epic vision and narration are inclusive of the lyric and the dramatic, as Brecht has shown us. They have the aesthetic amplitude to shows us this bitter earth, its life, even the most insignificant, as well as the buried layers of violence and the collective struggles to change them.

The Bindunuwewa Massacre

The July ‘83 race riots and the government-led programme’s effects infiltrate the estate in one strand of the narrative which is constructed with thriller overtones. The police and army presence gradually increases with interrogations and incidents. There is also physical infighting among various political and union factions. The newspaper montage in all three languages of the massacre of 26 Tamil male inmates at the Bindunuwewa ‘open’ rehabilitation camp for Tamil political prisoners, sends shock waves across the community, because one of them was of Malaiyaha origin. Sarasa’s young brother has been arrested and interned in a camp. The Tiger separatist politics of Jaffna and the ongoing civil war, appeared not to concern a few of the disaffected youth but create tension and fear on the estate. In an unusual framing, a young man gives a speech in a rhetorical mode, to no one in particular, saying ‘there are no tigers or lions here.’ The close-shot cuts to an informal group discussing the massacre and the murder of two political activists in a fight at the funeral of the victim of the massacre.

The meeting breaks up for them all to attend the funeral. In an extraordinarily tense sequence, we are shown, in a long-wide shot, not the funeral, but each of the adults of the community, dressed neatly in white, walking briskly through the layam to the funeral, in pairs and singly, silently. One feels the entire presence of the community gathering for this funeral which we are not shown. (Whereas we were shown the small Christian procession of mourners holding little crosses and a wreath, carrying Esther Valley’s mother’s coffin, across the landscape, singing a hymn.) Rituals for the dead when presented on film often create a profound sense of a community, give it a collective vitality, united in grief.

Hindu Kovil Festival

Similarly collective, the very large excited crowd enjoying the Hindu religious festival and dance parade at the Kovil is presented at first, in the observational mode of an ethnographic gaze. We see the intensity of the devotional ritual within the inner sanctum of the Kovil. Then the camera moves into a complex participatory mode, following a thriller-political plot line connecting Esther Valley with a figure trying to get her to identify a photograph by bribing her with a necklace. Refusing in fear, she runs away from him into the crowd. Then the participatory camera moves closer in to take in the transsexual dancers, one in traditional attire and three striking, tall figures in contemporary dress.

Moving closer to them, the camera and editing begin to move with them, fascinated by their thoroughly global dance moves, while the dancers’ intense focus is rather more internal, somewhat like those of Tamil women dancing at Kataragama. The fact that this complex celebratory scene of the festival was filmed without getting official permission makes its intensity and aesthetic richness, all the more remarkable. Getting a glimpse of Sarasa beautifully dressed in a shiny light blue sari and bejewelled, is an added bonus after having seen this graceful woman mostly in her drab work attire, carrying one child and holding the other by hand, walking tall with her basket and pole.

Sarasa

The relationship between Sarasa and her husband (marked by accelerating violent assaults on her), leads to an accidentally caused fire which becomes a conflagration. As their house burns Esther Valley and others run into the layam to rescue the children and the whole image is consumed by flames. A brief shot of a small figure rugged up to ward off the night time chill stands nearby looking towards us in a mid-shot. It’s held long enough to make one wonder if that was the director Sivamohan herself, who determined the conflagration in the layam as a narrative climax but has undercut its melodramatic effect.

Instead of ending there or perhaps with its aftermath, refusing to answer ‘what happened?’, the film cuts to the day after. The final scene is of a quiet morning showing the estate and its long winding road down which a well-dressed young woman in a salwar kameez, walks briskly. We follow her on to the main road which is also empty with just two stray dogs and a distant car. As she comes closer, we seem to remember her as perhaps a minor figure who appears in a scene or two with the Researcher. And so, in the here and now of this ending, this young woman, detached from the several story lines we have followed, walks away from the tea estate with a brisk purposiveness.

Cinema and Belief in this World

Within the estate there is a large ample intersection shaded by trees, with a shrine, where four streets meet. And we see in a mid-long-shot, young children neatly dressed in white uniforms or blue trousers and white shirts, wearing socks and shoes, walking happily to school in clusters, while the women go to work with their baskets and poles. We have seen a well-run creche where pre-schoolers play with wooden toys that help their hand-eye coordination and recognition of basic shapes and colours. One is left wondering if the younger generations who are getting educated will create a day when there are no more men and women willing to work on these tea estates, under the conditions we have observed up close.

This thought is not entirely fanciful any more than those two allegorical scenes of Meenakshi Amma singing amidst the tea bushes with her group of workers or Peter playing his accordion beside the crackling tea bush on fire, are fanciful. After all, we have been made receptive by MGR’s unexpected star appearance, singing a song about his mother-land, (carrying of all things a small suitcase), at the very opening of the film, to expect from cinema something in addition to and more than the representation of reality, a simple mirroring of what is. We will remember here MGR’s cinematic appeal, which surely must have helped this Tamil man born in Lanka in becoming the Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu.

Film creates (as Deleuze the French philosopher who loved the cinema said) a capacity to restore our belief in this world, that is belief in its as yet unactualized potential. Following Jean Luc Godard, he also said that, ‘film is a form that thinks’. Ingirinthu, with its political sophistication and ethico-aesthetic values is able to achieve this. My effort here has been to work through the implications of Anne Blackburn’s two ideas cited at the beginning. In doing so, I have explored some of the intricacies of the work that has gone into creating this specific feeling of ‘belief in this world’, by Sivamohan and all her collaborators, especially the (non)actors, most of whom were from the estate.

Ingirunthu is a carefully and deeply researched film, with Sivamohan spending time with the Malaiyaha people over a considerable period of time, getting to know them, sometimes staying with them and building trust. Both in terms of the choice of the marginalised Malaiyaha people as her subject, and in its experimental aesthetics it is (in my opinion) a singular, pioneering work within the history of Lankan cinema. The 200th anniversary of the arrival of the Malaiyaha folk to this Island of Dhamma, Sri Lanka, seems a fitting time to revive and celebrate this film and their survival skills, with public screenings and discussions.



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The 22nd Amendment, constitutional recovery and illiberal slippage

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by Dinesha Samararatne
Professor, Dept. of Public & International Law, Faculty of Law of the University of Colombo
 and was an independent member of Sri Lanka’s Constitutional Council (Jan. 2023 to Jan. 2026).

Sri Lanka’s political transition in 2024 was widely regarded as restoration of democracy, a reversal of authoritarian rule and an opportunity for constitutional recovery. The 22nd Amendment is the first constitutional amendment since this turning point. It 1) extends the age of retirement of the judges of the superior courts by two years, 2) expands the number of judges in the Court of Appeal by 4, and 3) introduces a cap of 6 years on the term of a Chief Justice. The expansion of the Court of Appeal is meant to facilitate the Court sitting outside of Colombo.

This Amendment is a stress-test on Sri Lanka’s democratic restoration as well as constitutional recovery. This Bill was published in the Gazette along with a proposed amendment to the Judicature Act of 1978, which sought to extend the age of retirement for the lower judiciary and to increase the number of judges of the High Court by 10. The enactment of the Amendment coincides with the completion of two years of this Government. Here, I offer a brief assessment of some of the key policy and constitutional issues involved.

Democratic Transition and Constitutional Recovery

There were many signs of a new lease of political life in Sri Lanka following the presidential election in 2024. Many politicians (of a certain kind) who sensed the change chose to not even contest the parliamentary elections. An Inspector General of Police (whose appointment itself was, at the time, under challenge) was impeached, and the political discourse seems to shift towards more democracy, transparency and accountability. The vigilance of the engaged citizen (as opposed to the mere voter) was evident in the pushback which led to the resignation of a Speaker as well as a Minister.

Some may say that these changes were too little and too late. After all, the Online Safety Act and the Prevention of Terrorism Act remain on our law books and we are still governed by an Executive President. Some others may argue that these are signs of a significant paradigm shift that is underway. Since 2025, the number of investigations, prosecutions and convictions related to bribery and corruption has been unprecedented, the President’s Fund is being accessed by people on the basis of financial need and there seems to be a change in the political culture. Whether these changes may be consolidated, it is too early to tell.

Policy and the 22nd Amendment

The 22nd Amendment to our Constitution suggests that political tactics familiar to the old order of things (to the extent that that order is in our past), are re-emerging. A proposal for a constitutional amendment which is piece-meal (with no convincing explanation for its selectivity), is published in the gazette without public consultation – not even consultations with relevant professional bodies – and is enacted without bi-partisan consensus. A recent example of a similar approach is the expansion of the number of judges in the Supreme Court and Court of Appeal by way of amendments at the Committee Stage of the 20th Amendment in 2020, with no transparency or consultation and with political justification post-Amendment. Many questions arise and remain unanswered. Among the many issues that plague our courts, on what basis were these issues prioritised for reform? As in the past, the process has been opaque and rushed. In turn this has led to polarised debates which carry the risk of compromising the confidence in the Government.

Laws delays, one of the stated concerns that the 22nd Amendment seeks to address, is at crisis levels in Sri Lanka. It is certainly a concern for citizens but it is a concern along with the extremely weak mechanism for legal aid, the lack of accessibility of court procedures and the difficulties we face for instance at a police station. We have a right to know why amidst all these serious and ubiquitous issues, the government prioritised constitutional reform in this selective manner. Constitutional reform must demonstrate a compelling link between the aspirations of the people for democracy, for human dignity and the flourishing of life. If the plight or aspirations of people are weaponised by political forces or elected representatives, we carry the burden of calling that out.

My own view is that a review of the age of retirement of judges is long overdue, but whether and how it ought to apply to sitting judges, carries the real or perceived risk of undermining the independence of the judiciary. Moreover, that is certainly not the only reform that is long overdue. The minimum criteria for the appointment of a judge to our superior courts is governed by convention (sometimes in the breach), not by law. In fact, the law does not lay down any criteria for appointment to our superior courts despite the Court’s assertion in its Determination on the 22nd Amendment bill that judges are appointed on merit, ‘competence and ability to work hard’ (p 87). While procedures and mechanisms are in place for disciplinary measures for the judiciary of lower courts, there is no such mechanism for the superior courts. The rules of the Constitutional Council (a matter that has been disputed in litigation) do not provide guidance on the process to be adopted for approval /disapproval of nominations made by the President to these courts. There is no judicial review of legislation in Sri Lanka. In fact, we are governed under a constitution that provides for the enactment of constitutional amendments or law reform that are inconsistent with the Constitution (with approval at a referendum). These are some aspects that require review and discussion in relation to the further improvement of the judicial branch of the state in Sri Lanka. Many of us consider these reforms not just important but also urgent.

Special Determinations and their Scope

Generally, after a Bill is placed in the Order Paper of Parliament, any citizen may challenge it before the Supreme Court and the Court communicates its determination to the President and to the Speaker within three weeks (Article 121). When a Bill proposes to amend the Constitution, it requires approval by 2/3 absolute majority in Parliament. Therefore, if a Bill is challenged, the Court has to determine whether it also requires approval by the people at a referendum. The approval of the people is required if the Court determines that the Bill or any of its clauses is inconsistent with the entrenched clauses of our Constitution listed in Article 83. There are 10 entrenched clauses in our Constitution including the clause on Buddhism and freedom from torture. These clauses may only be amended with 2/3 in Parliament and approval by the People.

The presentation of the Bill and proceedings before Court is a reminder, yet again, of the sheer inadequacy of the manner in which the Constitution is amended or how we engage in law reform. Within a matter of three weeks, the Supreme Court is required to exercise its ‘pre-enactment’ judicial review. In this case, 65 petitioners rushed to Court to challenge the 22A bill and eight others the amendment to the Judicature Act. The hearings are conducted under severe time-pressure, including, in this instance, without a right of reply for the petitioners to the submissions by the Attorney-General. In the proceedings related to pre-enactment review, I cannot help but notice the irony of the process. At least in theory, the Attorney-General is the guardian of the Constitution and, therefore, is required to act in trust, for the benefit of the People. In these hearings, however, the Attorney-General, by and large, presents and defends the policies of the government. In theory, the government represents the people. The petitioners, too, bring to Court the concerns of the people (to the extent that they are presented by the petitioners) through counsel who often appear pro-bono for them. One possible way out of this dilemma is to consider a possibility for the Attorney-General to participate in these proceedings on the basis of the Constitution and for the government to retain its own counsel to make submissions defending its policies.

Two Constitutional Issues

The Court was faced with two constitutional questions in hearing these petitions. First, whether the petitions required the full court to hear and determine the matter since the Bill involved the retirement age of the sitting judges as well. Second, the Court had to determine whether the proposed amendment had a negative impact on judicial independence, whether judicial independence was an aspect of the entrenched clauses of our Constitution and if both those questions were answered in the affirmative, whether the Bill required approval at a referendum. Previously, the Court has determined that in reviewing a Bill, Court will not inquire into the desirability of the proposed reform but limit itself to determining whether any clauses of a Bill are inconsistent with the entrenched clauses of Constitution and would therefore require approval by the people at a referendum.

Constituting the Bench

In the Supreme Court, benches ordinarily comprise three judges, and the Chief Justice is vested with discretion to constitute larger benches of five or more judges (Article 132). In ‘the opinion of the Chief Justice’ the question involved must be one of ‘general and public importance’. The decision to constitute a larger bench may be the Chief Justice’s decision, or on the request of at least two of the judges hearing the matter or at the request of a petitioner. In the Dissolution case (2018) the Chief Justice himself constituted a Bench of seven judges.

The Chief Justice had constituted a Bench of five judges to hear this matter, of different years of seniority in the Court. Court rejected the request for a full bench on the basis that the Bench did not have a conflict of interest and that a five-judge Bench was the appropriate use of the resources of the Court, particularly in light of the fact that the Court was due to hear petitions regarding another bill at the same time. For the first time, the Court comments on the administrative functions of the Chief Justice, the difficulties in case management under resource constraints and the internal procedures of a bench when dealing with a Special Determination. Ironically, this reminds us that for several months, the vacancies in the Supreme Court and the Court of Appeal have remained while the President and the Government claim that they are committed to addressing laws delays.

Even if the Court had taken the view that there was a conflict of interest, as a matter of necessity, the Court had to make a determination on this Bill. The Court, in its wisdom, determined that a five-judge bench was constitutionally adequate. Yet, it could be argued, that in this context, a full bench or a fuller bench, would have satisfied all concerned that the Court had taken the maximum measures it could, to avoid any perceptions of a conflict of interest. That interest of the Court and of our constitutional system, arguably is constitutionally more important than ensuring efficiency in case-management.

The Bill and Independence of the Judiciary

The independence of the judiciary includes the following dimensions: personal and institutional; negative and positive; the actual and the perceived; and procedural and substantive. These dimensions require a principled assessment as well as a situated or contextual assessment.

‘Independence of the Judiciary’ is explicitly mentioned only twice in our Constitution: in the preamble, as part of our ‘intangible heritage’ which ‘guarantees’ our dignity and well-being and as the sub-heading for chapter XV of the Constitution. The independence of the judiciary, as part of our intangible heritage, has to be understood as a foundational constitutional concept and as a constitutional principle. In its operationalisation, the concept and the principle have to be interpreted and applied in context. This is where the contestations on the 22nd Amendment come alive. None of the entrenched clauses directly refers to the independence of the judiciary. However, in its recent jurisprudence, the Court has held that the independence of the judiciary has to be read into Article 3 of our Constitution, which is entrenched. Article 3 states that ‘sovereignty is in the People and is inalienable’ and further that our sovereignty includes ‘powers of government, fundamental rights and the franchise.’ In this Determination, Court endorses this interpretation.

The Court rightly notes that matters of policy are not reviewable by court except if such policies are vague or manifestly unreasonable. The Court determines that petitioners were wrong to argue that the extension of the age of retirement of the judiciary was an encroachment on the independence of the judiciary. Notably, the Court does not explain the independence of the judiciary as a constitutional concept except to note that the Constitution ‘guarantees that Judges will be able to make decisions free of influence and based only on relevant facts and law.’ (p 74). The Court further notes that while a reduction of the term or a reduction in the salaries of judges would undermine judicial independence, the increase of salaries of judges could hardly be considered as impacting judicial independence.

The Court considered several comparative examples in considering whether or not the extension of the age of retirement has been determined to have undermined the independence of the judiciary elsewhere. However, in each of those examples the broader constitutional context has a material bearing on the conclusions reached. In India, the selection of judges for appointment is through the Collegium System which comprises the judiciary. In the UK, the age of retirement was raised after extensive consultation between July – October 2020. As reported by the UK government, 1004 responses were received from the judiciary, the legal profession and other stakeholders. It is thereafter that the decision was implemented. It is relevant to note here that despite the lack of consultation, the lower judiciary and the Bar went on record opposing this Amendment.

In its wisdom, the Court agreed with the submissions made by the Attorney-General that since the extension of the age of retirement applied to all the judges, it was non-discriminatory and non-discretionary and therefore was ‘not at the whim and fancy of the Executive.’ (p 83) The Court reproduces a Note to the Cabinet (3 July 2026) which sets out the reasons for the Government’s policy decision. Notably, in a sector where no constitutional reforms have been made, except to require approval for appointments by the Constitutional Council, the Note provides no justification for selectively focusing on the age of retirement. The excerpts of the Note reproduced in the Determination make no reference to the other two reforms proposed.

The Social Justice Questions and Constitutionalism

For us, the constitutional questions have to be answered within the broader political context. From the citizen’s perspective, even the increase of the salaries of judges, if implemented under questionable, selective or opaque circumstances, can give rise to questions, concerns and a weakening of public confidence. Facts take colour from their context. This reminds me of another question on which there has been some debate in Sri Lanka, which is, whether Sri Lanka should establish a separate Constitutional Court which will adjudicate on constitutional matters thereby permitting a broader jurisdiction and mandate.

Some others have even described law as a colonial tool that has oppressed most in society. Some have argued that social justice requires that we marginalise or even dispense with commitments to liberal values such as rules of procedure and values of democracy such as diversity of opinion. That Sri Lankans have experienced exploitation, that democracy has been abused for state capture, through its Constitution and law, is true. As much as the law has been a tool for exploitation and abuse, it has also been a tool for liberation and social justice. Victims of human rights violations and abuse of law, often the vulnerable in our society, often have no recourse but the law. They seek it, even if to fail. Justice, too, is heavily contested and should remain so. Its meaning cannot be the monopoly of one social class, a political party or a ruling elite. At the same time, there ought to be commitments we can make as a polity to values, procedures and substantive outcomes that bring liberal commitments to rights and procedure with those of social justice. Furthermore, we must avoid the trap of romanticising ‘the people.’ We, the people, have actively sought and cultivated political patronage and participated in practices that undermine our common good, such as daily acts of violence, racism, patriarchy, corruption, abuse whether at home, at work or in the public domain.

Returning to the question of law, constitutions and justice, we should be vary of a ‘them vs us’ approach, particularly when they are propagated by those with political, cultural or economic power. The Constitution allows the Cabinet to place a bill before the People for their approval through a referendum (Article 120). Perhaps, taking this path, even if it carries a significant financial cost, may have allowed the government to put to rest the opposition to the 22nd Amendment. It is ironic that under a Constitution that declares the people to be sovereign, the only time a bill has been put to the people, was to postpone the exercise of their franchise (4th Amendment to the Constitution 1982).

Illiberal Slippage and/or Democratic Backsliding?

Serious issues of constitutional politics of this nature require that a strong government (which is what we have, with a charismatic leader and 2/3 in Parliament) is matched by a strong Opposition. What we have, instead, for the most part, are some politicians and political parties that have no credibility on matters related to the judiciary, mobilising against the government and claiming to defend the independence of the judiciary. While that tragi-comedy writes itself, we the citizens ought to be concerned about the lack of healthy political competition, an essential feature of a sustainable democracy and the disregard by the government of the reasonable voices within the Opposition.

Illiberal slippage or democratic backsliding has been identified as a risk for regimes that have led a transition to democracy. In a system headed by an Executive President, such a risk is all too real, as we know all too well. Ad hoc, piece-meal constitutional amendments of this nature place us on that path. In this political moment, many truths compete with each other. It is true that Sri Lanka made a distinct transition to democracy. It was made in stages starting from 2022. No single political party or social movement can claim that transition as their own. We cannot deny the organic dynamics of that transition. It is true that this transition has a class dimension to it. For certain, the political elite of the past enjoy diminished political capital and mileage, at least for now. The professional elite, depending on one’s perspective, too, arguably enjoy diminished traction. The ground beneath us is shifting. It is also true that within the limited electoral cycle, limited political capital, and in a context where former authoritarian forces remain electorally relevant, institutional reform is difficult. Situated in this broader context, there is cause for concern about the 22nd Amendment. It has weakened our transition to democracy and placed our constitutional recovery at risk.

(I write as an engaged citizen who studies constitutional law. The views expressed here are my own.)

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Why do students ‘fear’ algebra?

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by R N A de Silva
rnades@gmail.com

“I was good with numbers and liked mathematics, but it changed when letters started to replace numbers”- such sentiments are common expressions that we hear. Perhaps the challenges that the students face in mathematics as a school subject are mainly due to the fear of algebra. For many students the transition into secondary education brings this profound sense of academic dread – algebra. This anxiety is more a structural byproduct of human minds adapt to radical shifts in thinking than a personal failure of the individual student. Many students who have been dealing only with numbers suddenly feel that they are in unfamiliar territory as they have to combine numbers with letters, symbols and rules. Dismantling this fear has to be done by the educators through reshaping how it is introduced and contextualised so that it becomes an accessible gateway of logical reasoning.

Let us look at the reasons for the development of the fear of algebra.

The Challenge of the ‘unknown’

In the first few years of formal schooling, mathematics becomes a tangible experience. They can count with their fingers or tools like counters and beads. They can measure lengths of tables or rooms or divide boxes or fruits into fractions. The operations are predictable and visible. There is stability in numbers as three is always a three. Algebra disrupts this stability. Letters such as x and y are introduced which do not possess fixed values. Suddenly, they are asked to manipulate symbols which they cannot physically see. This demand for abstract thinking can leave students bewildered. When a student enters this stage prematurely or without adequate background, the brain struggles to attach meaning to symbols.

Foundational gaps

As mathematics is uniquely sequential and cumulative, a weak grasp of basic skills may hinder progress in algebra. If a student leaves primary school with a shaky understanding of mathematical operations, it will be a disruption to their ability to follow algebraic steps. Solving an algebraic equation such as 3x – 2 = 10 consists of two levels of cognitive processing. Determining the properties applicable to isolate the variable requires higher order strategic thinking while executing the basic arithmetic operations requires lower order execution. If difficulties arise with lower order execution, they lose track of the broader algebraic strategy. Building confidence starts with consistent practice of foundational skills.

Fear of making mistakes

In general, a problem in algebra may involve a multi-step process unlike in a standard arithmetic problem. This increases the chances of making mistakes thus resulting in an incorrect final answer although the process is correct. Unfortunately, the traditional grading systems often rely heavily on the final result than the logical process. This can lead to an intense fear of failure. Subsequently, this threat of failure may turn into a highly stressful experience.

Now, let us consider strategies to eliminate or minimise the growth of the fear of algebra.

Using concrete examples to clarify abstract ideas

It is essential for teachers to use concrete examples to bridge the gap between simple mathematics and symbolic reasoning, rather than forcing students to jump to abstractness unassisted. A few examples are given below.

Solving an equation such as 3x + 10 = 100 can be introduced in the form of a story. ‘I went to a shop and gave the shopkeeper Rs 100 asking for three candies. He gave me three candies and also Rs 10 as balance. What is the price that I have paid for a candy?’ The gradual introduction of a variable will be made easier with such narratives.

Figure 1

Equations can also be framed as games of balancing on a scale to understand what you do to one side of the scale need to be done on the other side too to maintain balance. (See figure 1)

Factorisation is an area that many students struggle with. The need for a quadratic expression to be converted to a product can be shown through tiles that need to be fully covered in a rectangular area. Factors of X^2 + 5x + 6 can be manipulated with tiles as shown below to obtain the answer as (x + 3)(x + 2). (See figure 2)

Figure 2

With such demonstration, symbols lose their mystical quality.

Embrace mistakes as stepping stones

Errors should be treated as valuable diagnostic data by the teachers where the students are able to dissect where a problem went wrong. Creating a supportive learning environment that normalises mistakes as learning opportunities helps reduce anxiety and encourages persistence.

Assessment should also be done to reward logical reasoning and correct algebraic procedures without giving too much weight to minor arithmetical errors. Formative assessments need to be conducted regularly as algebra is introduced, before the students become overwhelmed by the complexities of cumulative assessments.

Connect with real life applications

Many students fail to see how algebra connects to everyday life, making it harder for them to stay motivated. Wherever possible, teachers can demonstrate practical uses of algebra such as tracking expenses to find the balance remaining after expenditure, estimating travel time or fuel consumption, use of recipes dealing with proportion, tiling the floor of a room and finding measurements for a scaled model of a building. Showing how algebra helps in designing games or solving real-world problems enhances interest and comprehension.

Algebra may feel intimidating at first, but it is an opportunity for students to sharpen their reasoning, resilience and problem-solving skills. When the anxiety is eliminated, algebra reveals itself as an extremely useful and elegant toolkit for problem solving. Using appropriate teaching methods algebra can be transformed from an intimidating barrier into a powerful bridge to intellectual exercise. “An ounce of algebra is worth a ton of verbal argument.” said John Haldane.

(The writer is a senior mathematics examiner of the International Baccalaureate Organisation)

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Two Badulla forests covering nearly 200 hectares gazetted as reserves

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Badulla District

By Ifham Nizam

Two forest areas in the Badulla District — Mahiyanganaya Moopalana, covering 29.79 hectares, and Mahiyanganaya Heerussagala, covering 168.09 hectares — have been officially gazetted as forest reserves, bringing a combined 197.88 hectares of ecologically important land under formal protection.

The two forests, located in the Riddimaliyadda Divisional Secretariat Division within the Mahiyanganaya forest range, are dry-monsoon forests that provide habitats for a variety of native plant and animal species.

The declarations form part of the Government’s Vanaspathi forest conservation programme, under which 20 forests, covering a total of 9,538.68 hectares, across six districts, were granted protected status. The latest additions have taken the forest area, protected under the programme, to nearly 65,000 hectares, according to reports.

Environment Minister Dr. Dammika Patabendi and Deputy Minister Anton Jayakody were associated with the conservation programme.

Commenting on the significance of the declarations, Dr. Patabendi said the reserves are intended to deliver long-term environmental, ecological and social benefits.

“Through the declaration of these reserves, we aim to protect Sri Lanka’s biodiversity, safeguard water sources and watershed areas, create opportunities for eco-tourism, and preserve areas of archaeological importance found within these forests,” the Minister said.

Moopalana Forest

The 29.79-hectare Moopalana Forest is a dry-monsoon forest containing a range of natural resources and providing habitat for native species.

The forest is also linked to the livelihoods of surrounding rural communities. Local people obtain forest-based products such as rattan, veniwel and kitul, making the area significant, not only for biodiversity conservation, but also for traditional livelihood activities.

Several small waterways that become active during the rainy season are also found within the forest.

Heerussagala Forest

The larger 168.09-hectare Heerussagala Forest is likewise a dry-monsoon forest with important ecological resources and habitats for native flora and fauna.

The forest also has a direct connection with the local water system, with Nagadeepa Wewa being fed by the forest area.

Adding to its significance is the nearby Nagadeepa Temple, an area associated with archaeological value.

The protection of the forest, therefore, encompasses ecological, water-resource and cultural considerations.

The Ministry of Environment states that its broader approach to environmental management is based on sustainable natural-resource management, with government agencies, communities and other stakeholders participating in conservation efforts.

The gazetting of Moopalana and Heerussagala consequently places nearly 200 hectares of Badulla’s dry-monsoon forest under formal protection, strengthening the legal framework for conserving their biodiversity, water resources and associated cultural values.

The two forests are among 20 forest areas officially declared reserves in the latest phase of the Vanaspathi programme, which covers forests in Badulla, Anuradhapura, Ampara, Kegalle, Nuwara Eliya and Vavuniya.

For the communities surrounding these forests, their protection also represents the preservation of natural resources that support local livelihoods and water systems — while ensuring that these forest ecosystems remain part of Sri Lanka’s natural heritage for future generations, says Environment Ministry Consultant Dr. Ravindra Kariyawasam.

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