Features

Why the Proposed Amendments to Sri Lanka’s Universities Act Raise Fears of Authoritarianism, Democratic Backsliding, and a Dangerous Precedent for Academic Freedom

Published

4 months ago

2025/12/21

A Nation at a Crossroads:

Sri Lanka’s university system has entered a moment of profound uncertainty as the National People’s Power (NPP) government advances a series of amendments to the Universities Act No. 16 of 1978. These changes, presented with unusual speed and minimal public discussion, have alarmed academics, administrators, and members of the Federation of University Teachers’ Associations (FUTA). While the government maintains that these amendments are intended to modernize higher education governance and introduce merit-based leadership structures, many within the academic community view them as a direct threat to university autonomy and a dangerous precedent for political interference.

The amendments, particularly those revising how Deans of Faculties and Heads of Departments (HoDs) are appointed and removed, have triggered deep anxiety among intellectual circles who fear that the proposed law signals an authoritarian shift rather than progressive reform. The sense of betrayal is especially pronounced because university teachers and intellectuals were among the strongest supporters of the NPP movement during the recent political transformations in Sri Lanka.

At the centre of the controversy are proposed revisions to Sections 49(1) and 51(1) of the Universities Act. These revisions expand the pool of academics eligible to contest for the position of Dean. Under the existing structure, Deans must be elected by the Faculty Board from among the current Heads of Departments or the former Dean. This ensures that only individuals with administrative experience and recognition within their faculty stand for the position. However, the new amendment widens eligibility to include Senior Professors, Professors, Associate Professors, and even Senior Lecturers Grade I.

Although on the surface this appears to broaden opportunities and allow for greater openness, academics argue that it in fact destabilizes long-standing governance structures and exposes the selection process to political influence. Expanding eligibility without strengthening administrative criteria, leadership experience requirements, or safeguarding against external interference creates an environment where politically backed individuals could easily bypass traditional academic merit.

Yet the expansion of eligibility is not the most contested element. What has shocked academics across Sri Lanka is the new provision empowering University Councils to remove Deans without any formal inquiry, disciplinary process, or due procedure. The Council, which includes several members directly appointed by the Minister of Education, is now given the ability to remove a democratically elected Dean purely on the basis of its internal vote. Such sweeping power is unprecedented in the history of Sri Lankan higher education. Under the current framework, any removal from office must follow established disciplinary protocols, including issuing charges, conducting inquiries, and allowing for defence and appeal. Eliminating these safeguards fundamentally undermines the principle of natural justice. Deans would become vulnerable to political pressure, personal vendettas, institutional politics, and ideological conformity expected by whoever influences the Council majority.

Many academics fear that this provision is not aimed at improving governance but at consolidating political authority over universities. Sri Lanka has a long history of political meddling in higher education, particularly in the appointment of Vice Chancellors. Recent events at some Public Universities where the University Grants Commission abruptly cancelled nominations for Vice Chancellor without transparent justification have been cited as a clear example of the politicization already occurring under the present administration. When the UGC, a supposedly independent regulatory body, acts in ways that reflect political pressures, academics reasonably fear that granting Councils unchecked power to remove Deans will worsen the trend. The arbitrary removal of a Dean could easily become a tool for control: those who express dissent, resist political directives, or support student movements might be dismissed simply because they do not align with the prevailing political agenda.

The speed with which the NPP government has introduced these amendments has amplified suspicion. Stakeholders were not consulted. Faculty Boards, University Senates, academic unions, and even experienced administrative leaders were excluded from discussions. No white paper was circulated. No formal invitation for comments was issued. Despite the NPP’s public commitment to transparency, inclusiveness, and “system change,” the process surrounding these amendments contradicts every democratic principle the party claimed to champion. Federation of University Teachers Association (FUTA), usually open to policy dialogue, has openly condemned the amendments and questioned why such sweeping changes are being rushed without proper consultation. The irony is not lost on academics: prominent members of FUTA have previously held high national office, including the Ministry of Education and even the post of Prime Minister. For a government linked to former academic activists to ignore the voices of academic institutions feels especially insulting. For many academics believes, this amendment is not simply a legal misstep but it is also direct assault on the dignity, autonomy, and democratic traditions of Sri Lankan universities.

Beyond the legal and political dimensions, academics are deeply concerned about the cultural and institutional consequences of these changes. University leadership thrives on internal democracy. Deans and Heads of Departments are expected to operate independently, ensuring that academic decisions from curriculum development to student welfare are based on scholarly principles rather than government agendas. If Deans can be removed without reason, the effect will be chilling. Administrators may hesitate to challenge questionable directives or resist political pressure for fear of losing their positions. Academic freedom, already fragile in Sri Lanka, could deteriorate rapidly. Research agendas may shift toward safe, apolitical topics. Public commentary by academics could become muted. Students, too, may suffer indirectly as universities become more risk-averse, less critical, and more obedient to political authority.

The threat to fundamental rights is tangible. Removing a Dean without inquiry violates principles of natural justice, which guarantee individuals the right to know the charges against them, the right to respond, the right to a fair and impartial investigation, and the right to appeal.

These principles are cornerstones of administrative law and are embedded in democratic governance. Circumventing these procedures essentially creates a parallel system where academic leaders are treated as political appointees rather than elected representatives of their faculties. Such a shift would place Sri Lankan universities in the company of authoritarian or militarized higher education systems elsewhere in the world, not among democratic nations where university autonomy is protected by statute.

Furthermore, the long-term implications for Sri Lanka’s academic reputation are severe. Internationally, strong higher education systems rely on clear separation between government influence and academic leadership. In Australia, the United Kingdom, Canada, and many European nations, Deans and Heads of Departments cannot be removed by politically influenced councils without due procedure. Decisions of this nature require transparent evidence, independent panels, and documented disciplinary processes. By contrast, the amendments proposed in Sri Lanka resemble governance structures found in autocratic regimes, where political loyalty often trumps academic merit. This perception could discourage international collaborations, visiting professorships, and global partnerships. It may also affect accreditation pathways, research funding opportunities, and the ability of Sri Lankan institutions to compete on the global academic stage.

The academic community has warned that Sri Lanka already faces severe challenges relating to brain drain, low research investment, and institutional instability. Political interference will only accelerate the exodus of skilled academics who seek environments where independent thought and professional dignity are protected. Many have expressed that they would rather accept lower salaries abroad than remain in a system where their professional integrity is at risk. Young academics, too, may hesitate to pursue careers in Sri Lankan universities if leadership positions become subject to political manipulation. This could eventually weaken the country’s capacity for scientific innovation, policy research, technological advancement, and knowledge production at a time when Sri Lanka desperately needs a robust intellectual workforce.

The cultural consequences of these amendments extend beyond academia. Universities play a critical role in shaping national consciousness. They nurture critical thinking, foster debate, and provide a space for young people to question power. Weakening university autonomy indirectly strengthens authoritarian governance throughout society. If academic voices are subdued, public policy will lose one of its most reliable sources of informed critique. Citizens, too, will feel the effects as public discourse becomes narrower and more controlled. The erosion of intellectual independence in universities often signals the early phases of broader democratic decline. Sri Lanka, still recovering from economic crisis and struggling to rebuild public trust in institutions, cannot afford such regression.

For their part, the government has defended the amendments by claiming that the changes will improve accountability, expand merit-based opportunities, and eliminate ambiguous language in the existing Act. While their concerns about ambiguity and governance shortcomings may be valid, critics insist that the solutions proposed are disproportionate and destructive. Expanding eligibility for Deans might be reasonable if accompanied by strengthened administrative criteria, leadership training programs, transparent performance assessments, and independent oversight mechanisms. But none of these appear in the amendment bill. Instead, the government has introduced a removal mechanism that undermines every principle of due process and opens the door for political abuse. This raises a deeper question: if the objective truly is meritocracy, why remove the procedural safeguards that prevent unjust dismissals?

Even academics who are supportive of the NPP’s broader political agenda are uneasy. They emphasize that reform should not be undertaken in isolation or without community consensus. Universities are not merely state institutions; they are intellectual communities governed by collegial principles. Any reform affecting their leadership structures must arise from meaningful dialogue with those who understand the complexities of academic life. Senior professors note that university leadership cannot be improved simply by widening eligibility. True leadership requires experience, respect among peers, and an appreciation of academic culture, qualities that cannot be legislated into existence, especially not through rushed amendments. Many fear that the government sees universities through a bureaucratic lens rather than understanding the unique intellectual, cultural, and administrative ecosystem in which academic governance operates.

A particularly troubling argument raised by academics concerns what the amendments could mean for the future. Laws once passed remain in force far beyond the lifespan of any government. Even if the NPP claims benign intentions today, future administrations especially those with authoritarian tendencies could easily exploit these amendments to exert control over universities. Sri Lanka’s history provides countless examples of laws enacted for one purpose being used for another. The Prevention of Terrorism Act, for instance, was introduced as temporary emergency legislation but evolved into a tool for political suppression. Granting Councils the power to remove Deans without due process could become a similar mechanism in the hands of future governments. For academics, the question is not only what the NPP intends but what any future government might do with these expanded powers.

The sense of urgency within universities is palpable. Many academics argue that the government must immediately pause the parliamentary process surrounding the amendments and engage in genuine consultation. This includes involving FUTA, the UGC, university Senates, legal experts, student unions, former Vice Chancellors, and professionals with administrative experience. A comprehensive review should be conducted to identify governance gaps in the current system, determine whether changes are warranted, and develop reforms that enhance both autonomy and accountability. The academic community is not opposed to reform but it insists that reform must strengthen democracy, not weaken it.

In this context, the amendments are seen not only as legally flawed but morally troubling. They undermine the trust that academics placed in the NPP government, a trust built on promises of transparency, consultation, and respect for institutional independence. For a party that campaigned on ending authoritarian governance, introducing amendments that empower political appointees to remove elected academic leaders is deeply inconsistent. Academics now fear that this may signal a broader trend: that the government’s commitment to system change does not extend to safeguarding democratic principles within state institutions.

Sri Lanka stands at a crossroads. The amendments to the Universities Act are more than administrative adjustments; they are a test of the government’s commitment to democratic governance. If passed without modification, they risk undermining academic freedom, silencing critical voices, and enabling political interference in spaces that must remain independent. Universities have long been centres of intellectual resistance, social critique, and democratic activism. Weakening their autonomy will weaken Sri Lanka’s democratic fabric. A government seeking to build a more just, equitable, and educated society cannot begin by constraining the freedom of its universities.

These amendments to the internal academic administration structure proposed by the NPP government violate long-standing democratic values that safeguard academic freedom and independent thinking. Within the Commonwealth tradition, academic integrity policies emphasize honesty, trust, fairness, and responsibility principles that guide the behaviour of students, faculty, and administrators alike. These policies condemn any form of dishonesty, including fraud, plagiarism, misrepresentation, or abuse of authority, and insist on transparent processes, clear rules, and consistent enforcement to ensure a trustworthy academic environment. By contrast, reforms that enable arbitrary appointments or removals of academic leaders without due process undermine these foundational values. They weaken the institutional culture of responsibility and transparency, and erode the safeguards that have historically protected academic communities from political interference. In this context, such amendments not only threaten academic governance but also contradict the very principles of integrity and accountability upheld across the Commonwealth’s higher education systems.

The academic community has repeatedly warned that Sri Lanka is already grappling with serious challenges in the smooth functioning of universities, the retention of qualified academics, and growing institutional financial instability. In the aftermath of Cyclone Ditwah an event that has further crippled the nation’s economic resilience, Sri Lanka can ill afford additional turmoil within its higher education sector. If universities are pushed into authoritarian administrative structures and governance chaos, the consequences could be devastating. Such disruptions risk accelerating intellectual flight, weakening academic institutions, and ultimately destabilizing the entire nation in the months and years to come. In this fragile national context, undermining universities is not merely an academic issue it is a national crisis in the making.

The path forward requires humility, reflection, and dialogue. The government must acknowledge the concerns raised by academics, pause the amendment process, and commit to a consultative approach that respects the knowledge and experience of those who have dedicated their lives to education and research. Only through meaningful engagement can Sri Lanka develop reforms that genuinely improve higher education governance while preserving its democratic values. The stakes are high. The future of Sri Lanka’s universities and by extension, the future of its democracy depends on the decisions made today.

By Prof. MPS Magamage
Sabaragamuwa University of Sri Lanka

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Features

The Digital Pulse: How AI is redefining health care in Sri Lanka?

Published

13 hours ago

2026/04/20

Thilina Walpola

A quiet yet profound shift is underway in American healthcare, and its implications extend far beyond the United States’ borders. A recent Associated Press report describes a scene that would have seemed improbable, even five years ago: a woman in Texas, experiencing side effects from a weightloss injection, does not call her doctor, visit a clinic, or even search Google. Instead, she opens her phone and consults ChatGPT. She tells the system how she feels, describes her symptoms, and receives an instant explanation. This behaviour, once the domain of early adopters and technology enthusiasts, has now entered the mainstream. A West Health–Gallup poll confirms that nearly onequarter of American adults used an AI tool for health information or advice in the previous month. For a country with one of the world’s most expensive and fragmented healthcare systems, this shift is not merely a technological curiosity. It is a sign of the public searching for speed, clarity, and affordability in a system that often fails to provide any of these.

Sri Lanka, though vastly different in scale, culture, and resources, is not insulated from this global transformation. If anything, the pressures that drive Americans toward AI—long wait times, high costs, difficulty accessing specialists—are even more acute in our own health system. The difference is that Sri Lanka is only beginning to experience the cultural and institutional adjustments that accompany widespread AI use. Yet the trajectory is unmistakable. What is happening in the United States today is almost certainly a preview of what will happen here tomorrow in Sri Lanka, though in a form shaped by our own social realities, linguistic diversity, and healthcare traditions.

The American experience shows that AI is becoming the new gateway to health information. As Dr. Karandeep Singh of UC San Diego observes, AI tools now function as an improved version of the old Google search. Instead of sifting through dozens of links, users receive a concise, conversational summary tailored to their question. This is precisely the kind of convenience that Sri Lankans, too, will find irresistible. In a country where a single specialist appointment can require hours of travel, waiting, and uncertainty, the appeal of an instant, alwaysavailable digital assistant is obvious. The idea that one could ask a question about a rash, a fever, a medication side effect, or a lab report and receive an immediate explanation—without navigating hospital queues or private consultation fees—will inevitably attract public interest. For example, one of my friends, who was with me in school, called me and said he is prescribed Linavic, a drug for type 2 diabetes. I told him that, as it is not widely known in the USA, to give me the generic name. He searched ChatGPT and told me it is called Tradjenta, which is widely available in the USA as a prescription drug for type 2 diabetes.

But Sri Lanka’s path will not be identical to America’s. Our adoption of AI in healthcare is emerging through institutions rather than individuals. Nawaloka Hospitals has already introduced AI-powered chatbots, including NASHA, an OPD assistant capable of guiding patients through symptom assessment and basic triage. This is a significant development because it signals that Sri Lankan hospitals are preparing for a future in which AI is not an optional addon but a core part of patient interaction. The government’s draft National AI Strategy reinforces this direction by identifying healthcare as a priority sector and emphasising responsible, transparent, and safe deployment. Academic bodies, such as the Sri Lanka Medical Association, have also begun training clinicians to understand and work alongside AI systems. These are early but important steps, suggesting that Sri Lanka is building the professional ecosystem needed for safe AI integration.

Yet, the public’s relationship with AI remains limited. Unlike in the United States, where consumers independently experiment with tools like ChatGPT, Sri Lankans tend to rely on doctors as the primary source of authority. Digital literacy varies widely, especially outside urban centres. Sinhala and Tamilcapable AI tools are still developing. And our society has a long history of health misinformation spreading rapidly through social media, from miracle cures to conspiracy theories. Without careful regulation and public education, AI could amplify these risks rather than reduce them. The danger is not that AI will replace doctors, but that poorly informed users may treat AI outputs as definitive diagnoses, bypassing professional care when it is urgently needed.

At the same time, Sri Lankans’ lived experiences reveal why AI will inevitably become part of the healthseeking landscape. Anyone who has visited the outpatient department of a major government hospital knows the reality: queues forming before dawn, patients clutching files and prescriptions, and overworked medical officers trying to see hundreds of cases in a single shift. In rural areas, the situation is even more challenging. A villager in Monaragala or Mullaitivu may have to travel hours to see a specialist, often relying on neighbours or family for transport. Many postpone care simply because they are unsure whether a symptom is serious enough to justify the journey. For such individuals, an AI-based triage tool—available on a basic smartphone, in Sinhala or Tamil—could be transformative. It could help them decide whether to seek immediate care, wait for the next clinic day, or manage the issue at home.

Sri Lanka’s private healthcare sector, too, is ripe for AI integration. Private hospitals are increasingly turning to digital systems for appointment scheduling, lab report delivery, and patient communication. Anyone who has waited for hours at a private OPD, despite having an appointment, knows the frustration. AI-driven systems could help streamline patient flow, predict peak times, and reduce bottlenecks. They could also assist doctors by summarising patient histories, flagging potential drug interactions, and providing evidencebased guidelines. For patients, AI could offer explanations of lab results in simple language, reducing anxiety and improving understanding.

There are already glimpses of this future. Some Sri Lankan patients, especially younger urban professionals, quietly admit that they use AI tools to interpret their blood tests before seeing a doctor.

Others use AI to understand the side effects of medications prescribed to them. Parents use AI to check whether a child’s fever pattern is typical or concerning. Migrant workers, returning home for short visits, use AI to prepare questions for their doctors, ensuring they make the most of limited consultation time. These behaviours mirror the early stages of the American trend, though on a smaller scale.

Sri Lanka’s cultural context will shape how AI is used. Our society places great trust in doctors, often viewing them as authoritative figures whose word should not be questioned. This trust is a strength, but it can also discourage patients from seeking information independently. AI has the potential to shift this dynamic—not by undermining doctors, but by empowering patients to participate more actively in their own care. A patient who understands their condition is better able to follow treatment plans, ask relevant questions, and recognise warning signs. AI can support this empowerment, provided it is used responsibly.

The deeper question is not whether Sri Lanka will adopt AI in healthcare, but how. The American example shows both the promise and the peril. AI can democratise access to information, reduce anxiety, and empower patients. But it can also mislead, oversimplify, or create false confidence. The challenge for Sri Lanka is to build a culture of responsible use—one that recognises AI as a tool, not a substitute for clinical judgment. Hospitals must ensure accuracy and transparency. Regulators must set standards. And the public must learn to treat AI as a guide, not a guru.

Sri Lanka has an opportunity to leapfrog. By studying the American experience, we can avoid its pitfalls and adopt its strengths. We can design AI systems that respect our linguistic diversity, our cultural habits, and our healthcare realities. We can integrate AI into hospitals in ways that enhance, rather than erode, the doctor-patient relationship. And we can prepare our citizens to use these tools wisely, with curiosity but also with caution.

The transformation is already underway. It will accelerate whether we prepare for it or not. The question for Sri Lanka is whether we will shape this future deliberately or allow it to shape us by default. The American shift toward AImediated healthcare is a reminder that technology does not wait for societies to catch up. It moves forward, and nations must decide whether to follow passively or lead thoughtfully. Sri Lanka, with its strong public health tradition and growing technological ambition, has every reason to choose the latter.

by Prof Amarasiri de Silva

Features

Not a dog barked

Published

13 hours ago

2026/04/20

Thilina Walpola

I began running on the beach after a fall on a broken pavement left me with a head injury and a surgically repaired eyebrow. Mount Lavinia beach, world‑famous and crowded, especially on Sundays, is only a seven‑minute walk from home, so it became the obvious place for my rehabilitation jogs.

On my first day, my wife, a true Mount Lavinia girl, accompanied me. Though we’ve been married for over 40 years, this was the first time I had ever jogged on the beach. She practically shepherded me there and watched from a safe distance as I made my way towards the Wellawatte breakwater. Dogs were everywhere: some strays, some with collars. I’m not usually afraid of dogs, so I ran past them confidently. Then one fellow barked sharply, making me stop. He advanced even after I stood still. I bent down, picked up some sand, and only then did he retreat, still protesting loudly. On my return run, he repeated the performance.

The next time, I carried a stick. The beach was quiet, perhaps my friend had taken the day off. But on the third day he was back, barking as usual. I showed him the stick and continued. Further along, more dogs barked, and I repeated the ritual. Soon I found myself growing jittery, even numb, whenever I approached a dog. Jogging was no longer comfortable.

My elder daughter, an ardent animal lover who keeps two dogs and wanting to have more, suggested bribery, specifically, biscuits. So, on my next run, I filled my pocket with them. When the usual culprit appeared, I tossed him a biscuit before he could bark. He sniffed suspiciously, then ate it. I jogged on. The rest of the “orchestra” received similar treatment and promptly forgot to bark. Not a dog barked the entire run, or on my way back.

Some groups had five or six dogs, but bribing the noisiest one was enough to quieten the rest. Soon they grew used to me running close to them, and the biscuits made me a trusted friend. These round little sugary crackers turned out to be the perfect currency for seemingly aggressive but essentially harmless dogs, a fact well known to my daughter, Dr. Honda Hitha, but a revelation to me.

One day, a friendly dog decided to escort me home. After receiving his biscuit, he lingered near our gate before returning to the beach. Over time, the number of escorts grew until I found myself flanked by about 10 canine disciples. They became my strength instead of a source of fear. They were darlings. Unlike humans, their affection, even if won initially with biscuits, soon became unconditional.

They still accompany me home, whether or not they receive a treat. Bless them! May they be born human in their next lives, perhaps the only way our wicked world can become a better place.

by Dr. M. M. Janapriya

Features

It’s Israel and US that need a regime change

Published

13 hours ago

2026/04/20

Thilina Walpola

Netanyahu and Trump

If there is one country that urgently needs a regime change it is Israel. The whole world is suffering and thousands of people, including children and women, are dying due to Israel’s Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s political survival strategy. He needs the war to avoid going to jail and also certain defeat at the next elections. The corruption and other charges against him, if proved, would send him to jail. He had asked the Israel President for a pardon and his friend Trump also has written to the President, on his behalf.

Netanyahu is able to commit genocide in Gaza with impunity because the US backs him to the hilt, economically, politically, militarily and also in the United Nations. Without all this, Israel will not be able to fight its many wars and pursue its “Greater Israel” project in Gaza, Lebanon, Syria, and also weaken the countries that oppose its grand plan, such as Iran, Yemen and Turkey. The US gives military aid to Israel, worth USD 3.8 bn, annually, which is used in these genocidal wars and expansionist projects. The US is, therefore, complicit in all these war crimes.

US presidents, beginning from Eisenhower (1950) to Joe Biden (2022), expressed displeasure at Israeli aggression. Ronald Reagan halted the shipment of cluster artillery shells, in 1982, over concerns about their use against civilians in Lebanon, and delayed the delivery of F-16 warplanes until Israel withdrew from Lebanon. George H.W. Bush (1990s) postponed $10 billion in loan guarantees in 1991 to pressure Israel to stop building settlements in the West Bank and to attend the Madrid peace conference. Barack Obama frequently criticised Israeli settlement expansion and, in the final days of his term, withheld a US UN Security Council veto on a resolution regarding settlements. Joe Biden (2020s) threatened to withhold military aid if Israel launched a major offensive in Rafah during the 2024 conflict in Gaza, pausing a shipment of heavy bombs. Most of these presidents had been in favour of the two state solution for the Palestine problem as well.

Trump abandoned these longstanding US policies on Israel that were upheld by Obama and later restored by Biden. Significant and far-reaching changes, included recognising Jerusalem as Israel’s capital, moving the embassy, declaring settlements not inherently illegal, and recognising Golan Heights, which belonged to Syria, as part of Israel sovereignty. These evil deeds of Trump seem to have boomeranged on him as he battles to extricate himself from a war forced on him by Israel, which has resulted in enormous economic and political, not to mention military, losses for the US and Trump. Consequently Israel, in the eyes of many leading political commentators, is now a liability for the US.

How this war was started reveals the dastardly and barbaric mentality of Netanyahu and Trump. The US and Iran were engaged in negotiations, with the mediation of Oman, to resolve their differences, and on 26 February, 2026, the Foreign Minister of Iran stated that a historical agreement with the US was about to be entered into and, the following day, Oman corroborated this announcement. Iran apparently had agreed that its nuclear programme could be brought under the surveillance of the International Atomic Energy Agency. Surprisingly on 28 February, 2026, Israel and the US attacked Iran, Trump saying that it posed a nuclear threat to the US! Oman said it was “dismayed” and the Iranian Foreign Minister said it was a “betrayal”. Obviously, Trump, who is under obligation to the Jewish lobby, which had funded his election campaign, had been drawn into the war. The Epstein files issue may have pushed Trump across the threshold. Iran’s response was calculated and appropriate. Trump says he will obliterate the Iranian civilisation in one night but soon agrees to have negotiations with Iran, in Islamabad.

However, Netanyahu cannot afford an end to the war he started to save his own skin. He goes ahead and drops 100 bombs in 10 minutes on Lebanon, killing 254 civilians, including children. The massacre in Lebanon continues with Israel pushing towards the Litani river in an attempt to annex southern Lebanon. Israel disqualifies itself not only as a reliable ally but also as an honourable member of the world community by having leaders of the calibre of Netanyahu. Israel is fast becoming internationally isolated, according to experts like Professors Robert Pape, John Measheimier, Richard Wolff, Jeffrey Sachs and Yanis Varonfakis. And these experts are of the view that if Israel continues its aggressive approach and expansionist policy, disregarding the historical facts of its origin and the Palestine problem, it will implode and destroy itself.

Israel must face the reality that Iran has emerged stronger after the war and may have control over the Strait of Hormuz and may even force the US out of the region. Israel, under Netanyahu, may not be willing to acknowledge these facts, but the people in the US must realise that it is not in their national interests to have Israel as an indispensable ally. This war is very unpopular in the US not entirely due to the economic impact but the extremely atrocious way it has been prosecuted by Israel and also the equally horrendous threats made by the US against Iran. It is also very unpopular among the US allies who bluntly refused to join or even approve it. Australia, Japan and South Korea, though far removed from the theatre of war, seem to be pretty angry about the whole thing, as they are badly affected by the economic impact of the war. They may be concerned about the brutality of Israel, and the degree of support and approval it gets from the US.

Those who have significantly gained from the war may be Russia who could have a windfall on their oil sales, and China who could quietly weave its diplomatic network throughout the Middle East and watch the decline of US influence in the region. Saudi Arabia and UAE, two countries bombed by Iran, have already started a dialogue with Iran. These developments may hasten the emergence of the new world order, spearheaded by China.

The war, that was started by Netanyahu, with a willing Trump, seems to have backfired on them, with both facing a hostile world and a fast changing geopolitical global situation. Trump’s MAGA project was aimed at quelling the growth of the new world order that had China and Russia at the head. He attempted to hit Russia with sanctions but failed. He tried to curb China with tariffs but failed. Denying oil supplies to China was attempted by kidnapping the Venezuelan President. China’s monopoly on rare earth minerals was a headache to Trump and he proposes to annex Canada and Greenland which have rich deposits of these elements. War on Iran was another opportunity to do a regime change and get control over that country and its oil. He threatened to wipe out Iran saying that “the civilization would die tomorrow night”, only a psychopathic megalomaniac could make such utterances , not a president of the US. Fortunately, the changing world order would not allow Trump to achieve any of his crazy goals.

Netanyahu inadvertently may have hastened his own downfall by starting a war without realising that the global geopolitics have changed and he cannot have his way even with the full backing of Trump. Both Israel and the US need a regime change if the world is to have peace.

by N. A. de S. Amaratunga