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A national post-cyclone reflection period?

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Security Forces cleaning a flood-hit school

A call to transform schools from shelters of safety into sanctuaries of solidarity

Sri Lanka has faced one of the most devastating natural disasters in its post-independence history. Cyclone Ditwah, with its torrential rains, landslides, flash floods, and widespread displacement, has left an imprint on the nation that will be remembered for decades. While rescue teams continue to work tirelessly and communities rush to rebuild shattered homes and infrastructure, the nation’s disaster assessment is evolving by the day. Funds from government channels, private donations, and the Sri Lankan diaspora are being mobilised and monitored with care. Humanitarian assistance—from the tri-forces and police to religious institutions and village communities—has surged with extraordinary compassion, but as in every disaster, the challenge ahead is not only about restoring physical structures; it is also about restoring the social and emotional fabric of our people for a sustainable future.

Schools on the Frontline of Recovery

The Ministry of Education is now faced with a difficult but essential question: When and how should schools reopen? The complexity of the problem is daunting. Hundreds of schools are either partially submerged, structurally damaged, or being used as temporary shelters, bridges and access roads have collapsed, and teachers and students in highly affected districts have lost family members, homes, and belongings. And yet, not all regions have suffered to the same degree. Some schools remain fully functional, while others will require weeks of rehabilitation.

The country has navigated a similar challenge before. In 2005, following the tsunami that hit mainly the coastal areas of the island, the education system faced a monumental recovery phase, requiring temporary learning spaces, psychosocial support units, and curriculum adjustments. During the COVID-19 pandemic, schools reopened in staggered phases with special protocols. International schools and private educational institutions, with greater autonomy, are likely to restart their academic calendar earlier. Regardless of whether a school belongs to the national, provincial, Pirivena, or international sector, however, education must restart sooner rather than later. The reopening of schools is not merely an administrative decision; it is a symbolic and structural step toward national healing and a restorative future for the country.

Disasters Do Not Discriminate — Neither Should Education

Just like the tsunami of 2004, the major floods of 2016, the landslides of Aranayake (2016), Meeriyabedda (2014), and Badulla (2022), and the Covid-19 pandemic (2021), the cyclone Ditwah has once again exposed the fragile but deeply profound truth that natural phenomena do not recognize distinctions created by humans. Floodwaters do not differentiate between provinces, school systems, or social classes; landslides do not check national exam results before destroying a home; and suffering does not pause to ask whether a child is from a rural Mahaweli village or an elite urban suburb.

In this context, educational institutions have a responsibility that goes far beyond exams and syllabi. This aligns profoundly with an often-cited principle of Jesuit education articulated in 2000 by Fr. Peter-Hans Kolvenbach, S.J., the former Superior General of the Society of Jesus:

Tomorrow’s whole person cannot be whole without an educated awareness of society and culture, with which to contribute socially, generously, in the real world. Tomorrow’s “whole person” must have, in brief, a well-educated solidarity… learned through “contact” rather than “concepts.” When the heart is touched by direct experience, the mind may be challenged to change. Personal involvement with innocent suffering, with the injustice others suffer, is the catalyst for solidarity which then gives rise to intellectual inquiry and moral reflection.”

In this sense, schools must guide children to process what they have witnessed—directly or indirectly—and transform these experiences into moral resilience, empathy, environmental consciousness, and collective responsibility. In doing so, one should bear in mind that every child in Sri Lanka has experienced Cyclone Ditwah in some way:

Children Who Faced the Disaster Directly:

Some children lived through the cyclone in the most harrowing ways—watching floodwaters creep into their homes, escaping rising torrents, or fleeing as landslides tore through familiar ground. Their memories are filled with the sound of rushing water, collapsing earth, and the frantic efforts of parents and neighbours, losing their family members, and trying to keep everyone safe.

Children Who Supported Frontline Families:

Others experienced the crisis through the lens of responsibility. They watched fathers, mothers, siblings, or relatives join rescue teams, distribute supplies, or help evacuate neighbours. These children carried a different kind of fear—waiting in silence, praying that their loved ones would return safely from dangerous missions.

Children Who Witnessed the Disaster Through Media:

Many encountered the cyclone from within their homes or shelters, glued to phones, televisions, and social media feeds. They saw images of villages underwater, families stranded on rooftops, frantic cries for help, boats battling fierce currents, and choppers airlifting stranded people. Even from a distance, these scenes left deep emotional imprints.

Children Who Internalised the Atmosphere of Fear:

Some were not exposed directly to images or destruction, but absorbed the tension in their households—whispered conversations, worried faces, disrupted routines, and sleepless nights. Their experience was shaped by the emotional climate around them: the uncertainty, the stress, and the unspoken fear shared by the adults they depend on.

Children Who Got Involved in Relief Efforts:

Across Sri Lanka, countless children became active participants in relief efforts—some spontaneously, others through families, schools, churches, temples, mosques, and youth groups. Individually, they helped neighbors carry belongings, comfort younger children who were frightened, fetch water and dry rations, and assist the elderly in evacuation centers. Within families, many helped prepare meals for displaced people, sorted clothing donations, packed dry-food parcels, and joined parents in visiting affected households. Through organizations, such as temples, churches, mosques, charity foundations, school associations, clubs, scout groups, Girl Guides, Sunday school units, youth groups, and student unions, children coordinated collection drives, raised funds, gathered books and uniforms for those who are affected, and volunteered at distribution points. These acts, small and large, are beacons of the nation’s hope, revealing that even a crisis as destructive as Cyclone Ditwah, Sri Lankan children were not only making meaning of suffering, but also cultivating compassion, solidarity, and shared responsibility.

In one way or another, Sri Lanka’s children have been touched by the experience. Their hearts are stirred. Their minds are open. While not all trauma comes from direct contact, indirect exposure can be equally jarring, especially for younger children; their psychological, emotional, and social well-being must be handled with sensitivity and foresight. This moment, therefore, is an educational opportunity of rare depth—if we have the courage and creativity to embrace it.

A National Post-Cyclone Reflection Period (NPCRP)?

Once schools reopen, no child should simply return to the classroom as if nothing happened. A top-down insistence on “catching up” academically without addressing emotional wounds will only store up psychological problems for the future. Instead, schools should designate an initial period for reflection, storytelling, sharing, healing, and meaning-making. Hence, a mandatory National Post-Cyclone Reflection Period (NPCRP) is not merely a “feel-good” recommendation. It draws from post-tsunami educational reforms both in Sri Lanka (2004) and in Japan (2011), WHO frameworks for psychosocial healing in schools, UNICEF guidelines on post-disaster learning environments, and our own cultural traditions of collective mourning and remembrance in Sri Lanka. In Sri Lanka, villages often come together after a death for almsgivings, month-mind ceremonies, etc. Our religions—Buddhism, Christianity, Islam, and Hinduism—each emphasize compassion, reflective mourning, and community healing. Why should schools not embody these cultural strengths after a catastrophe that has impacted an entire nation?

(To be concluded)

(Dr. Rashmi M. Fernando, S.J., is a Jesuit priest, educator, and special assistant to the provost at Loyola Marymount University, Los Angeles, California, USA.).

by Dr. Rashmi M. Fernando, S.J.



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Opinion

Panadura debate: special exhibition most welcome

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The special exhibition displaying original manuscripts relating to the Panadura Debate at Rankoth Vihara is welcome and, as Nishantha Peiris mentions (News, 30 Aug), the debate gained international interest following the publication of a book containing the speeches made in the debate. The credit for this must be given to John Capper, the then editor of the Ceylon Times. He published an account of each day’s proceedings in his paper and the full text of the speeches in a book entitled ‘Full Account of the Buddhist Controversy Held at Pantura in August 1873.

The preface of the book stated: ‘In the belief that an authentic account of the Controversy which took place at Pantura in August last, between a Buddhist Priest and two Ministers of the Protestant religion, will be read with interest by a large number of persons here and in Europe. I have produced the proceedings in the present form. The report has been revised by the respective disputants, so that it may be taken as a correct account of what passed’.

Capper’s book was picked up by J M Peebles who was in India, who then published an extended version in the United States. If an original copy of Capper’s book is available in Sri Lanka, it should be exhibited in the Rankoth exhibition.

Yours faithfully,

Dr R P Fernando,

19 Danetree Close,
Epsom UK

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In Memory of Dr Upatissa Pethiyagoda

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Dr. Pethiyagoda

It is with a deep sense of sadness that I record the passing of Dr Upatissa Pethiyagoda, who died on 27 August 2026 at the age of 94. To many, he was a distinguished scientist, accomplished administrator, diplomat and public intellectual. To me, he was much more than that.

Dr Pethiyagoda was a proud product of Trinity College, Kandy. At a time when a first class in Botany was a rarity, he obtained one and subsequently pursued postgraduate studies in London. His scientific career reflected not only his knowledge but, more importantly, an enquiring and restless mind that was never satisfied with simply accepting what was known.

In the 1970s, he headed the Plant Physiology Department of the Tea Research Institute of Sri Lanka. He was part of a formidable team of scientists that included Drs R L de Silva, R L Wickramasinghe, P Sivapalan, Tilak Wettasinghe and W Danthanarayana. They were scientists who contributed enormously to the development of the tea industry in Sri Lanka, and Dr Pethiyagoda stood comfortably among them.

In 1978, he moved to the Coconut Research Institute as its Director. It was there that I had the privilege of working with him. Those years left a lasting impression on me.

Dr Pethiyagoda was, in every sense, a complete scientist. Although his formal specialisation was plant physiology, he was remarkably comfortable discussing almost anything scientific. What distinguished him was his curiosity. He questioned the science behind the ordinary things that most of us simply accepted. I remember his asking questions such as, why is an orange green in Sri Lanka? It was typical of him: an apparently simple observation would lead him to ask what lay behind it.

That curiosity never left him.

After his tenure at the CRI, he undertook an FAO assignment in the Middle East, working on the improvement of date palms. There he was exposed to agriculture under conditions of severe water scarcity. He pursued this further during a visit to Israel, learning about agronomic practices suited to such environments. Later, when he worked with the Mahaweli Authority, he was able to translate that knowledge into practice, introducing high-value horticultural crops to Systems B and C.

What impressed me was not merely that he acquired knowledge, but that he connected knowledge from one context to another and turned it into practical solutions. His enquiring mind and analytical ability enabled him to do this with remarkable effectiveness.

He was equally impressive as a communicator. Dr Pethiyagoda was an eloquent speaker, whether he was talking about science, agriculture, public policy or the everyday affairs of our country. His speeches were often laced with wit, humour and the occasional tongue-in-cheek remark. But beneath the humour was a very serious mind. He was forthright in his opinions and, importantly, he was not afraid to express them, whatever the possible repercussions.

His contributions to the media demonstrated this courage.

Writing about the travel to London by a former President, he observed:

“Where a person enjoys immunity by virtue of his position, this carries a reciprocal obligation to exercise an abundance of exemplary behaviour. In effect, immunity is best exercised, when the need to invoke it, is never allowed to arise.”

[Immunity Does Not Confer Impunity – Colombo Telegraph]

That was quintessential Pethiyagoda—precise, pointed and impossible to misunderstand.

He was equally outspoken about the government’s decision to ban inorganic fertiliser with ‘immediate effect’. He was deeply distressed by what he believed would be the consequences for farmers, particularly the poorer farming community. He would speak about it almost every day, driven not by political considerations but by his conviction that science and evidence had been disregarded.

In one of his writings on the subject, he remarked:

“What the ‘Vipathmaga’ caper taught us was that advice of sundry ‘Experts’ can be disastrous. Professors of Surgery, clergymen and Pediatricians are not the best equipped to advise on fertilisers, as much as a Soil Scientist should not prescribe treatment for a sick child.’ [Some Lessons That Can Be Learned Even From Disasters – Colombo Telegraph]

And in another article, his frustration was summed up in the memorable words:

“Stupidity, like History, has a way of repeating itself.”

[Unscrambling eggs – Colombo Telegraph]

These were not simply provocative statements. They reflected a scientist who believed deeply that public decisions, particularly those affecting agriculture and the livelihoods of farmers, should be based on evidence and sound scientific advice.

Perhaps, what I will remember most about Dr Pethiyagoda is that his curiosity survived almost to the very end of his life.

Very recently, he was still asking questions and pursuing ideas. He was interested in the possible genetic differences between the waraka and wela varieties of jak, because he wondered whether the wela variety might have commercial potential for cellulose extraction. He was disappointed that he could not find relevant scientific literature in Sri Lanka. More than the particular subject, what struck me was that at 94 he was still thinking about a scientific question, looking for evidence and wondering whether an apparently ordinary resource could have an important national application. He lamented the lack of interest among scientists and academics in such questions of national importance. That concern, too, was very much part of who he was.

Dr Pethiyagoda also served as President of the National Academy of Sciences, Sri Lanka. Unfortunately, he was unable to complete his term because he was appointed Ambassador to Italy, with representation at the Food and Agriculture Organization in Rome. Even in that role, he remained very much the scientist. I understand that he made a significant contribution to FAO discussions. As Ambassador, he also had the unenviable task of entertaining Sri Lankan Ministers of Agriculture who attended FAO sessions. I know from my own conversations with him that those informal dinners were not merely social occasions. He would discuss agricultural issues with the Ministers, and I have little doubt that his views—and the force with which he expressed them—sometimes influenced their thinking.

Looking back, what I admired most about Dr Pethiyagoda was not any particular position he held or any particular achievement. It was the way he thought.

He questioned.
He analysed.
He connected ideas.
He challenged conventional wisdom.
And he was willing to say what he believed to be true.

He also demonstrated that science should not remain confined to laboratories, research papers or academic institutions. For him, science was a way of looking at the world and, ultimately, a means of improving the lives of people.

It is perhaps ironic that, only a few months ago, he wrote about “The Cost of Dying”, as distinct from the “Cost of Living”. In that article, he reflected on the manner in which our mortal remains should be disposed of, observing: “I am in two minds regarding the manner in which the mortal remains are disposed of, ‘according to the will of the deceased’. But with the cessation of the breath, ownership or tenancy ceases.” Even in contemplating death, he brought his characteristic questioning mind to the subject. What particularly caught my attention, however, was his explanation of the Buddhist practice of holding dânes (almsgivings) for monks of the local temple in the seventh day and third month following a death. I had never really thought about the significance of this practice before. That, too, was typical of Dr Pethiyagoda: he could take something that we had accepted as ordinary and familiar and make us stop, think and see it differently.

His passing has created a colossal vacuum in Sri Lanka’s scientific community. People of his intellectual breadth, curiosity, courage and independence are rare. We may not always have agreed with everything he said, but we could never doubt that he had thought deeply about it and that he had the courage of his convictions.

For those of us who had the privilege of knowing him, there is sadness in his passing. But there is also gratitude—for having known such an extraordinary mind, for having learnt from him, and for having witnessed at close quarters his unwavering commitment to science and to the development of our country.

I shall remember Dr Pethiyagoda with great affection and immense respect.

Ranjith Mahindapala
Past President, National Academy of Sciences of Sri Lanka.

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A neighbour’s view of India’s strategic strengths

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What India chooses to do with the strategic freedom it has built over eight decades may be the defining question of its next phase

by Milinda Moragoda

In the emerging global economy, countries will increasingly seek multiple sources of energy, technology, capital, minerals and markets. India can contribute by helping create an open network rather than another exclusive bloc.

As India marks eight decades of Independence, its strategic position has changed almost beyond recognition. Yet the central question of strategic autonomy remains. What India chooses to do with the strategic freedom it has built over eight decades may be the defining question of its next phase.

India has spent the past decade expanding its strategic choices — deepening ties with the US, Europe and Japan while maintaining important ties with Russia and strengthening engagement with the Gulf, Africa and Southeast Asia. Australia and New Zealand are also becoming increasingly important partners in the wider Indo-Pacific. At the same time, India has sought a larger voice for the developing world in international institutions. Strategic autonomy has traditionally been understood in diplomatic terms: the ability to maintain freedom of action without being drawn into competing power blocs. In an increasingly interconnected world, however, that freedom will depend just as much on economic choices.

The objective should be strategic interdependence — building sufficiently diverse relationships that dependence on any one country or economic system does not become a vulnerability. India is unusually well placed to pursue this. Its geography connects the Gulf and wider West Asia, the manufacturing economies of Asia, Africa across the Indian Ocean and the Eurasian space extending through Russia. The opportunity, therefore, is to become a connector between economies increasingly fragmented by geopolitical competition.

India’s relationship with Japan is extending into advanced manufacturing, technology, energy, semiconductors and critical minerals. Its engagement with the US is deepening across technology, investment, advanced manufacturing, energy and strategic cooperation, while its engagement with Europe is becoming increasingly economic and technological. Its relationships with the Gulf are expanding beyond energy into investment and connectivity. Australia and New Zealand add an important southern dimension to its wider Indo-Pacific engagement, while Southeast Asia provides pathways into wider Asian production networks.

Russia remains an important part of this equation. India’s continuing engagement with Moscow, alongside its deepening relationships with Washington, Tokyo, Europe and the Gulf, demonstrates that strategic autonomy gives India the flexibility to maintain important relationships across geopolitical divides.

China inevitably occupies a special place in this landscape. India’s answer cannot be either excessive dependence or complete separation. It will require strengthening domestic capabilities, diversifying supply chains and building partnerships elsewhere, while retaining space for engagement where interests permit.

India possesses another asset that few countries can match: a large, globally active and influential diaspora. Yet the diaspora can also present challenges, as political currents within these communities do not always align with India’s interests and can occasionally create sensitivities in its relations with host countries. The greater opportunity lies in nurturing the economic, intellectual and cultural connections the diaspora can create, while respecting its diversity and independence. In the emerging global economy, countries will increasingly seek multiple sources of energy, technology, capital, minerals and markets. India can contribute by helping create an open network rather than another exclusive bloc.

Ports, shipping routes, energy corridors, digital infrastructure, supply chains and trade agreements increasingly shape strategic influence. India’s challenge is to bring these strands together without turning them into a closed sphere of influence.

India’s economic rise will be more sustainable if other countries see themselves as participants in its growth rather than simply as markets for it. The value for India lies in making these relationships complementary rather than choosing among them. India’s leadership of the Global South can now move beyond representation in international forums towards creating an international economic environment in which developing countries have greater choices. India’s own experience is relevant here. It has moved from a relatively closed economic model towards deeper global integration while retaining a strong emphasis on domestic capability. The lesson is that openness and strategic autonomy need not be contradictory.

As the G20 meets again in Miami in December, India can continue to argue that the Global South should not merely seek greater representation within existing institutions, but a greater stake in shaping the economic networks and institutions of the future. An economically integrated Indian Ocean could allow countries such as Sri Lanka, Bangladesh and the Maldives to participate more deeply in regional supply chains, logistics, energy, tourism, technology and services. Influence based on shared prosperity is more durable influence based on dependence. India’s strategic opportunity, therefore, lies in becoming one of the principal connectors of a changing world.

(Milinda Moragoda is founder of the Pathfinder Foundation, strategic affairs think tank, and can be contacted via email @milinda.org.)

Courtesy Hindustan Times

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