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The Impossible Object of Sex: My talk with Alenka Zupančič

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Alenka Zupančič

How psychoanalysis reveals the fractures in subjectivity that structure desire, sex, and identity

What does it mean to claim that psychoanalysis is inherently feminist? How can the unconscious, that most enigmatic of terrains, illuminate the contingency at the heart of symbolic authority? And in what ways do desire, subjectivity, and gender refuse simple classification, persistently disrupting our frameworks for understanding human behaviour, culture, and technology? These questions are not idle speculation but the threads that guide the work of Alenka Zupančič, a thinker whose engagement with psychoanalysis, philosophy, and culture continues to challenge conventional approaches to understanding human life. Her reflections compel us to reconsider what it means to be a subject, how we negotiate our desires, and how symbolic structures—cultural, social, and linguistic—mediate our experience of the world.

Alenka Zupančič, a Slovenian philosopher and psychoanalyst, has long been a key mind in contemporary thought, particularly in exploring the intersections between Lacanian psychoanalysis and philosophy, cultural critique, and feminist theory. Her work on desire, subjectivity, comedy, and ethics exemplifies a conceptual rigor that refuses simplification, insisting instead on attending to the structural gaps, paradoxes, and contradictions that define human experience. In her approach, psychoanalysis is not merely a clinical tool but a conceptual lens, one that illuminates the fractures and instabilities inherent in both individual and collective life. As she notes in her reflections, the very act of engaging with psychoanalysis is an intervention in thought itself: it is a mode of thinking, not simply a repository of knowledge or an explanatory framework.

I spoke with her a few months ago, and our discussion compelled me to revisit it repeatedly, reflecting on how to translate her ideas into a concise column. Every word she spoke carries the weight of the nuances that shape our understanding of life. Here, I have attempted to summarize what she shared in response to a series of questions I posed.

Zupančič begins by clarifying the nature of the relationship between psychoanalysis and philosophy, insisting that they are intimately connected yet distinct. “They are not one and the same thing, obviously,” she says, explaining that psychoanalysis emerges from its clinical practices, whereas philosophy constitutes a form of engagement that is itself a practice. To be a philosopher, she explains, is to “engage in a certain process of thinking, and of thinking about thinking,” a disciplined activity that develops concepts rather than subscribes to a predetermined worldview. Psychoanalysis, she emphasizes, is not merely another philosophy. It is “a singular discourse that has, or can have, the power to disrupt philosophy and philosophical thinking from within, orient it in a different way.” By this she means that psychoanalysis acts as an internal perturbation—a “clinamen”—that re-configures conceptual terrain, offering new ways of approaching traditional philosophical concepts such as the subject, truth, and the real.

Crucially, Zupančič stresses that the transformative potential of psychoanalysis does not lie in adding a psychological dimension to philosophy. Lacan’s insistence that “psychoanalysis is not psychology” highlights this distinction. What Freud and Lacan reveal, she explains, is the unconscious as a process, a form of thinking in its own right. “Thinking is very much part and parcel of the unconscious and its ‘work’ (Freud uses the word ‘Arbeit’),” she observes, underscoring that unconscious processes are structured, active, and meaningful in ways that exceed conscious comprehension. The Lacanian subject is not a hidden agent behind these processes; rather, it is “the name of this very split in thinking, suggesting that I also think where I am not, where I do not exist as subject of these thoughts, where I say ‘this is not me’.” The goal of analysis, therefore, is not to claim ownership over unconscious thoughts but to inhabit the radical division in which they exist.

This conception of subjectivity extends naturally to questions about human experience in the modern world. Zupančič distinguishes between two ways of conceiving the subject. The first treats subjectivity as roughly synonymous with the individual, shaped by social, cultural, and technological forces. In this view, “as ‘subjectivities’ we are a result of all kinds of structures and discourses,” and our experiences and choices are deeply conditioned by external frameworks. Yet she also proposes a more nuanced conception: the subject as a “symptom or blind spot of the discursivity as such, its inherent split.” Here, the subject is not the causal origin of contradictions or inconsistencies but their conceptual marker, the way in which gaps in discursivity become apparent. Freud’s encounter with hysterical symptoms exemplifies this perspective: hysteria is not simply a distortion of perception or a personal flaw but a response to structural deadlocks in reality. Zupančič observes, “Hysteria points to a – displaced – objective problem, it tells us something about the reality in which it emerges.” The subject emerges in and through these structural fractures, not as an autonomous agent but as a reflection of the incompleteness and tension embedded in social and psychic life.

Desire, in Lacanian theory, is similarly central to understanding human motivation, and Zupančič provides a detailed account of its mechanics. She characterizes desire as “absolutely central, nodal” because it unites heterogeneous registers—physiological, social, and linguistic. Desire emerges when a need is articulated to another, producing a margin between the object that satisfies the need and the demand for recognition or response. This margin, she stresses, constitutes “the field of desire proper,” a space that is neither fully object-oriented nor reducible to immediate satisfaction. Desire differs fundamentally from need: while need seeks cessation, closure, or the fulfilment of deprivation, desire thrives in incompleteness. As Zupančič explains, “Desire… aims precisely at the difference, the gap between what we demand and what we get.”

The objects of desire are thus not intrinsically significant; they acquire meaning insofar as they mediate the gap that constitutes desire itself. Fantasy plays a critical role in structuring this gap, providing an “armature” through which desire can articulate itself. Yet desire remains oriented toward absence rather than fulfillment, and the satisfaction of desire lies not in possessing a concrete object but in maintaining the relational space that makes desire intelligible. Zupančič emphasizes that desire’s central characteristic is this non-coincidence: it is “the object-cause” of the gap, a domain of its own, irreducible to immediate gratification.

Zupančič’s reflections on comedy illustrate how psychoanalytic insights extend into cultural critique. Comedy, she argues, is not merely a genre but a method of apprehending contradictions in human life. The most effective comedy is one that “takes its own lightness very seriously,” creating imaginative spaces in which objects of critique are dismantled without succumbing to mockery or derision. Direct mockery, she warns, often collapses under the gravity of its object, whereas comedy that constructs its own conceptual universe reveals human contradictions with subtlety and precision. Comedy, she notes, is deeply embodied, a form of wit that manifests bodily and psychic tensions. Importantly, it reveals the paradoxical nature of human finitude: “There is comedy because this finitude itself is not waterproof… it is as if our finitude had a leak in it.” Human finitude, she insists, is never simple or unproblematic; it is always marked by gaps, inconsistencies, and structural vulnerabilities, and comedy thrives in this space, exposing the failures and ruptures in our attempts to inhabit a coherent existence.

Ethics, too, is re-conceived through a psychoanalytic lens. Zupančič highlights the inseparability of ethical reflection from structural tensions in discourse. She emphasizes that ethics emerges from what Lacan identifies as the inherent surplus or heterogeneity within social bonds: “there is no discourse or social bond that does not involve a surplus, heterogeneous element.” Ethics, therefore, is not a matter of straightforward moral rules but an engagement with the irreducible inconsistencies, contradictions, and gaps that define relational and social life. Lacanian ethics illuminates how these structural tensions generate the conditions for ethical reflection, prompting us to confront rather than resolve the conflicts inherent in human experience.

Zupančič’s discussion of gender and sexuality similarly foregrounds gaps and structural ambiguities. While gender is often ascribed at birth based on anatomy, she stresses that conflicts arise primarily when drive sexuality becomes operative. Drawing on Freud and Laplanche, she notes the paradoxical temporality of sexual development: “What is acquired through the drives precedes what is innate and instinctual… at the time it emerges in puberty, instinctual sexuality… finds the seat already taken, as it were, by infantile drives, already and always present in the unconscious.” Gender, she argues, is fundamentally a question of identification rather than identity. Identification is a strategy to frame and stabilise the gaps at the core of sexuality, encompassing unconscious drives, desire, and enjoyment. She stresses, “Identification – even when I identify with this or that feature in the other – is never simply about that feature, it is about the void or gap that this feature helps me to frame, make sense of, to incorporate in my being.”

This insight extends to psychoanalysis’ engagement with feminist and queer theory. Zupančič observes that these fields are far from homogenous, with some theorists using psychoanalysis as a critical tool and others as an object of critique. She argues that Lacan’s formulation of the phallus exposes contingency in the symbolic order: “The importance of phallus comes not from those who have it, but from those who don’t… Its appearing against the background of its possible lack or non-being is precisely what accounts for the symbolic rather than simply the anatomic character of the phallus.” The phallus is defined by absence rather than presence, revealing the hidden contingencies underlying social hierarchies and symbolic authority. Psychoanalysis, she maintains, provides the conceptual framework for articulating these structures, challenging simplistic readings of power, gender, and desire while offering new avenues for critique and understanding.

Zupančič also reflects on emerging trends in psychoanalytic research, emphasizing conceptual innovation and reactivation. While new universal concepts may be rare, she highlights the ongoing potential to reinterpret existing ideas in novel ways. Lacan’s engagement with Freud exemplifies this, transforming clinical insights into living theoretical constructs. She notes promising areas of inquiry, including intersections with politics, ideology critique, and explorations of artificial intelligence. In particular, she recognises the work of Slavoj Žižek as exemplary in demonstrating psychoanalysis’ reach beyond the clinic. As she notes, “For example, a very important and unique branch of ‘ideology critique’ has been developed in the works of Slavoj Žižek, which differs from most standard accounts.” Zupančič emphasizes that Žižek’s approach illuminates contradictions and tensions inherent in social and political structures, showing how psychoanalytic concepts can interrogate ideology and reveal inconsistencies often overlooked by conventional analysis. His work exemplifies the ongoing vitality of psychoanalytic thought as a conceptual practice capable of reshaping our understanding of society, politics, and culture.

In addition to ideological critique, Zupančič highlights emerging research into artificial intelligence, noting its potential to transform our understanding of subjectivity and desire. While still in the early stages, she suggests that psychoanalytic tools can help us trace how technological mediation reshapes our psychic and social life, illuminating the new forms of gaps, contradictions, and split that emerge in human subjectivity under digital conditions.

Zupančič articulates a vision of psychoanalysis as a lens for understanding the irreducible complexities of human existence. From the structure of desire to the paradoxes of comedy, from gender identification to the ethical tensions of social life, her work foregrounds the gaps, contradictions, and structural ambiguities that define human experience. In her account, psychoanalysis is not simply a clinical tool but a philosophical practice, a method of conceptual investigation capable of revealing the hidden frameworks that shape thought, subjectivity, and social relations. It is in these structural voids and inconsistencies, she suggests, that both human vulnerability and conceptual insight reside.

by Nilantha Ilangamuwa ✍️



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Own the car or let the App drive?

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The real cost of daily travel in urban Sri Lanka

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

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

The Sri Lankan distortion:

cars cost too much

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

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

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

The app alternatives: car or three-wheeler

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

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

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

Non-financial advantages of ownership

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

The hidden burden of car ownership and app limitations

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, what should an urban Sri Lankan do?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Views expressed in this article are personal.)

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Justice and democracy in Sri Lanka’s new political era

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

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

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

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

Provincial Elections

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

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

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

Two Pillars

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

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

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

by Jehan Perera

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Pitfalls and exclusions in academic recruitment

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Academic recruitment

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

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

The Advertisement

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

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

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

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

Review of Applications

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

Selection Panels

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

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

The Marking Scheme

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

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

Cultural Credibility

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

The Way-forward

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

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

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

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

by Mahendran Thiruvarangan

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