Features
The Popular Sinhala Cinema : Rukmani Devi; Mohideen Baig ; Gamini Fonseka
by Laleen Jayamanne
Rukmani Devi, the first star of the Sinhala cinema and incomparable singer with a unique voice, originally known as Daisy Rasamma Daniel, was a Tamil Christian. It was well known that she couldn’t read or write Sinhala and that her dialogue and lyrics were written in English. Al-Haj Mohideen Baig, who sang some of the most cherished, perennial popular Sinhala film songs (including Budhu Gee), wrote down the Sinhala lyrics in his mother tongue, Urdu. The multilingual Mohideen Baig came to Lanka in 1932 for his brother’s funeral and stayed on. With the guidance of Mohammed Gauss at Columbia records, he began singing on radio soon after. In India he had sung Ghazals in Urdu in his village Salem and also Hindi and Tamil songs.
Once film production began in Lanka, he had a long career as a backup singer, starting with Asokamala (1947). His powerful, textured voice was unique just like Rukmani Devi’s, which made their songs immensely popular. Also, he acted as a beggar in Sujatha (53), walking across landscapes, singing melancholy shoka gee, commenting on the action. His love songs with Rukmani Devi are some of the most heartfelt songs of longing (viraha), in films like Nalagana (1960), which I heard as a child, at the proletarian Gamini theatre Maradana, where their songs blared out vibrating the small theatre and our hearts. Listening to the songs now on YouTube, those memories flood my thoughts (as I write), as only music can, though the films themselves are a faint memory. Gamini was among several Tamil owned cinemas burned down in July 83 race riots.
Here, I wish focus on Rukmani Devi and Baig Master’s careers within the multi-ethnic composition of the Lankan film industry. Gamini Fonseka will make a guest appearance here as a trilingual Sinhala star who built a Tamil fan base. I examine the period from Rukmani Devi’s starring role in the very first Sinhala film Kadawuna Produwa (Broken Promise) in 1947, going beyond her accidental tragic death in 1978, to the murdering of the director K. Vanket in July 83, and concluding with the assassination of the pioneering film producer and entrepreneur, K. Gunaratnam in 1989, by a JVP gunman.
I do this so as to understand anew the cultural value of the early Lankan hybrid popular cinema and its cross-cultural heritage of songs, its multi-ethnic history, through reading and listening carefully to several of its most ardent cinephiles and researchers. They are a group of older, now retired journalists who are in fact the first generation of Sinhala cinephiles and writers of the Lankan cinema, such as A.D. Ranjith Kumara, Sunil Mihindukula former editors of Saraswiya, Ranjan de Silva, Ananda Padmasiri and Ariyasiri Withanage, who have conducted research into those critically maligned early films, their songs and the mass audience and have helped create a film culture through their writing and programming of film songs.
As cinephiles and collectors, their passion for that popular cinema of the past remains undiminished even in retirement. I came across them through a series of informative programmes on Independent Television Network (ITN), directed by Indrasiri Suraweera (available on YouTube). Their careful historical research into the musical traditions of the films, and generosity of spirit should inspire younger generations of critics and intellectuals to do more historical and theoretical work on the Lankan cinema more broadly and not forget its hybrid foundations. It is a cinema I enjoyed as a child, but studied critically while writing my doctorate on female representation in these films. Also, because most of these men were trained as journalists on radio and the print media, they are highly disciplined concise speakers (unlike us verbose academics), so it was a pleasure to listen to them exploring an undervalued period of Lankan mass cultural history. This history has an important relationship to Sinhala Buddhist Nationalism and its relation to the ethnic minorities of the country as well.
A Feminist Perspective on Rukmani Devi’s Career
Rukmani Devi died in a car crash in the early hours of one morning in October 1978. She had been travelling all night from Matara to Negombo, after having sung at a carnival variety show there. While there are numerous accounts of her death in all its detail and of the mass funeral and public mourning recorded on film, there is no discussion of why she was travelling such a long distance all night, from Matara to Negombo, after a ‘hard day’s work…’. As far as I know there is no critical analysis of what happened to her career at midlife and how that might have had some connection to the circumstances leading to that fatal accident. Her career trajectory from super-stardom as both an actress and singer from the 1940s, mingling with political and business leaders and some of the major Indian film stars, appearing on the cover of the Indian film magazine Film Fare, and a long recording and singing career, starting as a girl, from 1938, to end up singing in a variety show down South, is surely an index of the precariousness of her life. Her financial insecurity was also true of the lives of many other people who had worked in the film industry (including technicians, directors, main and supporting actors), in the first decades of Lankan cinema. This dark history should also be included as an essential part of what is often referred to (with pride), by some Sinhala critics as, Sinhala sinamawe wansa kathawa (the illustrious genealogy of the Sinhala cinema).
That Rukmani Devi lived an independent personal life as a professional woman in Lanka, starting quite young as an actress, on stage and film in the late 1940s, strikes me as an important aspect of her career, though the roles available to her on film reinforced feudal patriarchal values. The film Samiya Birindage Deviyaya (The Husband is the Wife’s God, 1963, WMS Tampo), stands as one of the most extreme examples of these oppressive values. It’s been referred to as a ‘women’s picture’, one which ‘they like to watch crying’, said one Sinhala male critic. Hollywood called their version ‘the weepies’, a profitable melodramatic genre targeting the new female spectator-consumer, who attended matinees.
The panellists, Ranjith Kumara has written a book on Rukmani Devi and Ranjan de Silva is a collector of her gramophone records and the song sheets of that era. He is also knowledgeable about Indian musical traditions such as the Raga based Hindustani music and popular Bajan and Ghazal songs for instance. He could hear their precise influences on the best of the early Sinhala film songs and how the originals were adapted and modified, rather than simply copied in the best examples. Appreciating the high quality of the Indian originals, he didn’t simply dismiss the early songs as ‘bad’ just because their origins were ‘Indian’.
His ideas on adaptation are sophisticated and can be used to revise dogmatic views on the early film songs. Most entries on the web simply list Rukmani Devi’s’ films with plot summaries without an analysis of her roles, some even extending her film list to dates well after her death, perhaps their dates of exhibition!
I can find no discussion on how her career ended in sharp decline, and what that means about the economically precarious state of some of the personnel, both men and women in the film industry of that time. There is plenty of adulation and appreciation of Rukmani Devi now as a singer, especially at anniversaries. People still listen to her songs and know her ‘legend’, and sing her songs, but with voices that are very high-pitched and ‘thin’, without her rich timbre nor the wide range of her voice and intensity of feeling. These innate qualities prompted one critic to suggest that she might have been able to sing Western opera as well. There is an unfortunate absence of an account of her as a pioneering female professional actress and singer, the challenges she faced (as a modern high profiled Tamil woman), all of which I think merit research, especially by feminist scholars and critics.
A useful thesis or two may be formulated and written on this and related topics at one of our universities. The existing research by Ranjith Kumara and Ranjan de Silva and younger critics and researchers should be drawn on and extended from a feminist perspective on ‘women and work’ and ‘female representation’ on film. There are a few books written by these older cinephiles, which must be collectors’ items by now. There is a small book by Sarath Ranaweera on Master Baig.
The fact that Rukmani Devi returned to the stage to perform in Dhamma Jargoda’s Vesmuhunu (an adaptation of A street car named desire by Tennessee Williams), either in 69 or 70, was mentioned by Ranjith Kumara, along with a significant anecdote. He said that just before she went on stage to perform as an aristocratic lady (originally Blanche du Bois in Williams’ play), she had insisted on showing her respect to Dhamma in the traditional Sinhala manner of bowing to him by going down on her hands and knees at his feet.
Ranjith Kumara mentions this because, as he rightly says, it was an unusual gesture for a Christian such as Rukmani Devi to perform. Certainly, in our catholic villages, stretching from Uswatakeiyawa to Negombo (Rukmani’s home town with Eddy Jayamanne), there was never such a practice and it still remains quite a foreign gesture to me, though I do appreciate the idea of ‘guru bhakti’ which encodes Rukmani Devi’s gesture. Ranjith Kumara elaborates on this, saying that it was Dhamma’s Shilpiya manasa (artistic intelligence) that Rukmani bowed to. One could take up this fascinating anecdote, told with such perspicacity, a little further.
Cultural Capital: Rukmani Devi and Irangani Serasinghe
I happened to have seen some of the rehearsals of Dhamma’s Vesmuhunu, as an inaugural student of the Art Centre Theatre Studio of 1970/71. If I remember right, Dhamma also did a version of it with Irangani Serasinghe simultaneously, alternating between these two brilliant Lankan actors. Some of us saw both rehearsals in Harrold Peiris’s large open garage at Alfred House, where our workshops were held, before the Lionel Wendt complex was refurbished to house the workshop. So, Rukmani’s unusual gesture of gratitude to Dhamma, I imagine, is because someone of his stature in Lankan theatre had finally given her the gift of playing a serious dramatic role in a modern play. The actress who started her career in the popular Tower Hall Nurti plays of the 40s and the Minerva theatre of B.A.W. Jayamanne, was finally given the opportunity to act in a modern western classic. Kumara also mentioned how much Rukmani Devi appreciated being able to act in Lester James Peries’ Ahasin Polowata (From the Sky to the Earth) where the Nimal Mendis song she sang won her a posthumous award.
There are several other famous global super stars who have yearned recognition and respect as ‘serious’ actors. The most famous of course being Marlin Monroe who produced The Prince and the Showgirl just so she could act with the famous British Shakespearean actor, Lawrence Olivier, while she was still married to Arthur Miller the famous American playwright. For unusually gifted super stars such as these, popularity alone is insufficient, knowing full well how ephemeral, limited and confining their popular ‘sexy’ image is for them, they longed for something more durable to work on, something with cultural and intellectual capital, one might now say.
Perhaps reading Rukmani’s autobiography (Mage Jeevitha Vitti), might provide more leads into the intricate intersections between her life and work, which in her case are especially inseparable, unlike that of any other Lankan film star I know of. Her use of the word ‘vitti’ (information), rather than ‘katha’ (story) suggests that she knew how to protect herself, her privacy. Rukmani Devi’s career started with her elopement and marriage, while still a minor, and she never stopped working in the dominant language which was not her mother tongue, having done only a few performances in Tamil. Whereas, many Lankan Sinhala female stars have left their careers at the height of their popularity to get married and have a family. Most memorably Jeevarani Kurukulasuriya (who formed such a popular romantic duo with Gamini Fonseka, our first male action hero), abandoned her career at marriage.
Dharmasena Pathiraja’s comments, at the official celebration held by the then president Maithripala Sirisena (along with the former president Chandrika Bandaranayaka), to mark the 50th anniversary of his professional work in the Lankan film industry, are relevant in thinking about Rukmani Devi’s predicament. He undercut the idea that he had worked ‘professionally’ in the ‘Lankan film industry’. He asked, rhetorically but politely:
“What Industry? How can there be an industry without capital, if there is no professional stability and proper infrastructure? When we look at the sad last days of Rukmani Devi, Domi Jayawardhana and Eddie Jayamanne, how can we speak of an industry? I wasn’t a filmmaker professionally, was anyone able to make a living professionally? I made a living by teaching as a lecturer from 1968-2008. (Maha lokuwata, arambaye sita karmanthayak gana katha keruwath, ape athdakeema anuwa wurthiya sthawarathwayk nathnam kohomada karmanthayak thienne!) The people who say there is an industry are the exhibitors and some producers.”
These starkly realist comments may be taken as an important starting point for future research into the economic, cultural and biographical histories of stars of the Lankan cinema, by young scholars. Clearly, Pathiraja knew from within what exactly had happened to these once very popular actors late in their lives. Perhaps it’s not too late yet to do some oral history before those with personal memory and deep knowledge of the vital early decades also pass away.
I remember visiting Master Hugo Fernando (who did comic routines with his little knot of hair tied at the back and large umbrella tucked under his arm), to talk about the ethos of the old days, which he did so graciously. Kumara and de Silva’s research is indispensable in this regard. Irangani Serasinghe would probably welcome a chance to talk about working with both Dhamma and Rukmani on the same play simultaneously, a most unusual experiment only he could have devised. I feel, in doing so, he was paying homage to two of Lanka’s uniquely popular actors from vastly different social worlds and actorly traditions, with very different cultural capital.
There is a strange symmetry in their career trajectories, but going in opposite directions. Irangani became a beloved house hold name only after the advent of the teledramas once Television was introduced in the late 70s. Prior to that, her acting began at the University Dram Soc where she famously played the heroine in the Greek classic Antigone. After her training at Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, she acted in the English language theatre and in the films of Lester beginning with Rekava (1956). Her repertoire included Shakespeare, Chekov, Lorca, Brecht and others. This also led her to play in Sinhala theatre as well.
During this time, she was recognised as one of our finest actors in both languages, but was not a household name as her work was consistently on the English stage. In contrast, Rukmani was a national figure of great adoration as an actress and singer on film and radio starting from the 40s. While Irangani worked in the domain of high-culture, Rukmani Devi created a Lankan popular mass culture (with Master Baig and others), through her films and songs. But with each change of taste, fashion and the fact of ageing, her film appeal diminished. But her resilience at self-reinvention is evident when she joined the group Los Cabelleros, singing Sinhala pop songs to Latin rhythms, with a show in Jaffna where she sang in Tamil.
I wonder if her Sinhala fans were curious enough to ask her to sing in Tamil as well. In her later years she longed to perform in work that was considered intellectually serious, engaged art. And this chance she did get but belatedly with Dhamma, while Irangani, through her later work in tele-dramas and films, has been able to continue her career well into her 90s and also become a cherished ‘national treasure’. Just as some critics dismissed the early Sinhala films dependent on Indian models, there are those who are critical of many teledramas for their low quality and diluting of popular taste and powers of discrimination. Unlike Irangani’s, Rukmani’s career trajectory marks a sad decline, as Pathiraja stated so forcefully. Therefore, all the massive outpouring of love and grief at her death is no compensation for the loss of worthwhile work. After all she died at only 55 with so much untapped creativity still left.
I am not alone in thinking that Lanka failed this rare artist of national and international stature, as it did Master Mohideen Baig (but more of him later). A visiting Indian star on hearing Rukmani Devi sing had said that, had she been born in India she would have been far more famous. Perhaps like the iconic singer Latha Mangeshkar, of whom Kumar Shahani once said: ‘If India has a heart, then that would be Latha Mangeshkar.’ Singing melancholy songs (Shoka Geetha), but with poetic lyrics written especially for her in Tamil and Sinhala, Rukmani Devi might have become, for all of us, (irrespective of our ethnic differences), Lanka’s sole soulful female voice. Baig Master was the only singer who sang with Mangeshkar, who also sang a song in Sinhala.
Rukmani Devi’s unerring ear meant that she could ‘pass’ as Sinhala, without a trace of her Tamil mother tongue inflecting her enunciation of the words. This ability was not a matter of aesthetics alone within the history of race relations in modern Sri Lanka, then Ceylon. In fact, the ability to pronounce ‘correctly’ the Sinhala word for bucket as ‘baldi’, became a sign of one’s ethnic identity during anti-Tamil riots in July 83. Saying ‘valdi’ instead of ‘baldi’ resulted even in death.
Mohideen Baig, a Muslim, who sang duets with Rukmani Devi, did so with a slight Urdu inflected accent and yet he was an essential part of Sinhala cinema and radio with mass appeal for much of the early period. Together, they evoked a haunting feeling of pathos tinged with a melancholy mood (viraha), in many of their songs, most especially in Jeevana me gamana sansare (samsare of this life’s journey).
Muttusamy and Rocksamy were the leading composers of music for the songs in Sinhala, though there were many other Tamil and Muslim musicians working in the industry as well. Even after better educated writers of lyrics entered the industry these highly skilled musicians continued to compose for them. For example, while Karunaratna Abeysekara wrote the lyrics for Kurul Badda the music was by Muttusamy. Rocksamy composed the music for Dharmasena Pathiraja’s great Tamil language film Ponmani, a truly innovative score in that the main song in the Karnataka idiom is repeated as a refrain, creating an emotional commentary on the main violent action. He also played the saxophone which was banned by the Sinhala nationalists at Radio Ceylon as being a brass Western instrument!
To be continued…
Features
The 22nd Amendment, constitutional recovery and illiberal slippage
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.)
Features
Why do students ‘fear’ algebra?
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.
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)
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)
Features
Two Badulla forests covering nearly 200 hectares gazetted as reserves
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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