Opinion

Amid winds and waves: Sri Lanka and the Indian Ocean – III

Published

1 month ago

2025/11/5

Sahan Weerasooriya

Sirimavo / SWRD / DS

Small-State Strategy: Navigating Asymmetry through Ambiguity

In navigating asymmetry through ambiguity, Sri Lanka’s experience is filtered through two deep and persistent frames that shape both its social consciousness and its foreign policy behaviour. The first is Sri Lanka’s long held an exaggerated sense of its own geopolitical indispensability. This perception, rooted in colonial and early postcolonial experiences, assumes that global powers view the island as a critical hub in the Indian Ocean. In practice, however, strategic value is fluid and shaped by technological and logistical developments. When Sri Lanka nationalised the British air base at Katunayake in 1956, the British swiftly developed the Gan base in the Maldives, illustrating that alternatives always exist. Over time, advances in aviation, satellite communication, and maritime technology have further reduced Sri Lanka’s earlier military and logistical centrality. Yet this inflated self-image continues to influence how decision-makers assess leverage and external engagement, often leading to overconfidence in negotiations and misjudged assumptions about international attention.

The second conditioning frame is a persistent belief that the international community is predisposed to harm or undermine Sri Lanka—whether due to ideological bias, geopolitical competition, or humanitarian critique. This perception has fostered a defensive, inward-looking national psyche that often interprets external pressure as existential threat rather than as opportunity for policy recalibration or reform.

Together, these two psycho-political frames—overestimation of strategic importance and an entrenched sense of external hostility—have deeply influenced Sri Lanka’s foreign policy behaviour. Successive political leaders have strategically mobilized these sentiments to consolidate domestic legitimacy, portraying themselves as protectors of sovereignty and national pride. However, this approach has also generated policy rigidity and self-imposed isolation. Ultimately, Sri Lankan leaders have become victims of their own narratives, as the very perceptions they cultivated for political survival have constrained the country’s strategic flexibility and reduced its capacity to engage pragmatically with an evolving international system.

In international relations scholarship, the foreign policy behaviour of small states has been a recurring site of inquiry for what it reveals about the exercise of agency under structural constraint. Classical realist and neorealist perspectives have tended to define small states primarily in terms of material capability deficits, emphasising their limited ability to shape systemic outcomes and their consequent need to navigate international hierarchies through alignment choices (Walt 1987; Rothstein 1968). Within this framework, strategies such as balancing, bandwagoning, hedging, and omni-enmeshment have been conceptualised as adaptive responses to external pressures (Schweller 1994; Kuik 2008). Yet, as critics of systemic determinism have argued, such typologies often obscure the domestic, ideational, and historical foundations of small-state behaviour (Hey 2003; Thorhallsson and Steinmetz 2017). More recent constructivist and post-structural approaches thus call attention to how small states actively construct their strategic identities, redefine vulnerability, and deploy narratives of autonomy or insecurity as instruments of statecraft (Ingebritsen 2006; Browning 2006). In this view, small states are not merely reactive but engage in continuous meaning-making processes that mediate between systemic constraints and national self-conceptions. Sri Lanka’s foreign policy behaviour, situated at the intersection of postcolonial identity, regional geopolitics, and domestic political contestation, illustrates this dynamic interplay between structural limitation and agential assertion—one that cannot be fully apprehended through systemic categories alone.

For Sri Lanka, smallness is not merely quantitative but situational: it derives from the island’s exposure to multiple centres of power within a confined maritime space. Geography ensures that external influence is perpetual; the challenge lies in managing its intensity. As such, Sri Lanka’s strategy cannot be understood simply as the pursuit of neutrality or non-alignment in a binary world. Rather, it represents a continuous process of interpretive balancing—adjusting posture and rhetoric in response to shifting configurations of regional and global power.

Central to Sri Lanka’s small-state outlook is a besieged mentality—a historically conditioned sense of vulnerability born from geography, colonial experiences, and post-independence insecurity. As an island adjacent to a continental giant and situated along vital sea-lanes, Sri Lanka has long perceived itself as simultaneously exposed and encircled. This strategic psychology has produced a defensive reflex in foreign policy: the pursuit of autonomy through caution, ambiguity, and balance.

This mentality does not imply passivity; rather, it provides the cognitive backdrop against which strategic choices are made. The fear of domination—by larger neighbours, external powers, or global institutions—has consistently shaped Sri Lanka’s diplomatic posture. It explains why successive governments have oscillated between engagement and withdrawal, openness and resistance. Whether confronting India’s regional predominance, Western human-rights pressures, or Chinese economic leverage, Sri Lankan leaders have tended to respond through a logic of managed uncertainty—keeping multiple relationships active while avoiding exclusive dependence.

In this sense, the besieged mentality functions as both constraint and catalyst. It constrains by fostering caution and a tendency toward defensive rhetoric, but it also catalyses creativity by compelling the search for diplomatic space in crowded strategic theatres. The result is a persistent preference for strategic ambiguity—a deliberate blurring of commitments that allows flexibility while signalling non-hostility to all sides. Sri Lanka’s small-state behaviour is not purely transactional; it is also profoundly normative. The island’s leaders have consistently justified diplomatic choices in the language of moral balance, restraint, and global peace. This moral vocabulary has allowed Colombo to elevate pragmatism into principle—to turn caution into an ethical stance.

D. S. Senanayake’s “Middle Path”

was the first clear expression of this ethos. As the country’s inaugural Prime Minister, Senanayake pursued moderation between rival power blocs, seeking cooperation without subordination. His vision of a balanced, independent foreign policy framed neutrality not as weakness, but as wisdom grounded in ethical restraint.

S. W. R. D. Bandaranaike

advanced this normative impulse through his aspiration to make Sri Lanka the “Switzerland of Asia.” His call for “Asian solidarity” and peaceful coexistence positioned the island as a moral actor in the decolonising world—one that could bridge East and West through principled neutrality and dialogue rather than alignment or confrontation.

Sirimavo Bandaranaike

gave this moral diplomacy its most ambitious institutional form through her leadership in the Non-Aligned Movement (NAM) and the Indian Ocean Peace Zone (IOPZ) proposal. Introduced in 1971, the IOPZ sought to transform the Indian Ocean into a demilitarised space dedicated to peace and development. This initiative embodied Sri Lanka’s attempt to recast small-state vulnerability as a platform for global moral leadership—an effort to shape international norms despite limited material power. Under her guidance, Colombo projected a peace-oriented identity that married normative aspiration with strategic foresight.

Together, these approaches reveal a continuous thread in Sri Lankan foreign policy: the fusion of strategic caution with ethical ambition. The “besieged mentality” of a small state has been reframed as a “peace drive”—the conviction that survival depends not only on careful calculation but on the ability to claim moral legitimacy in world affairs. In this sense, Sri Lanka exemplifies a broader small-state tradition in the Global South, where the projection of moral authority functions as a form of soft balancing. By framing neutrality as peace leadership, Colombo has sought to convert its lack of material power into diplomatic capital. This normative posture cannot erase vulnerability, but it provides a compelling language through which vulnerability can be managed, justified and reimagine.

However, the eruption of the ethnic conflict in the early 1980s fundamentally altered the trajectory of Sri Lanka’s foreign policy. The long-drawn war against the LTTE introduced an internal security crisis that reshaped Colombo’s external posture.

The diplomacy of moral balance and peace leadership gradually turned into the diplomacy of defence, justification, and damage control. The moral and peace-oriented diplomacy that had characterized Sri Lanka’s early decades was profoundly tested by the eruption of internal conflict. The ethnic crisis that escalated into civil war forced Colombo to shift its foreign policy focus from normative leadership to existential security. As the confrontation with the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) intensified, external relations were increasingly defined by the logic of the battlefield rather than the ideals of non-alignment. Diplomacy of principle and persuasion gradually had evolved into diplomacy of defence and justification. This transition marked a turning point in Sri Lanka’s foreign policy trajectory, as the island’s international engagement became dominated by the imperatives of war and survival.

From 1984 onward, the challenge posed by the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) became the dominant lens for Sri Lanka’s external relations. A foreign policy once anchored in non-alignment and regional cooperation gradually hardened into security-driven diplomacy. The pursuit of weapons and international recognition replaced earlier moral–normative ambitions. Colombo’s overriding priority became obtaining military assistance free from the human rights conditions imposed by Western partners. This pragmatic shift led Sri Lanka to cultivate ties with states willing to supply arms and intelligence on transactional terms. The long civil war thus reshaped both the priorities and methods of diplomacy: trade, development, and regional dialogue were increasingly viewed through a security lens. The search for external legitimacy mirrored the government’s domestic struggle for authority, marking a clear break from the island’s earlier idealism.

After the attacks of September 11, 2001, the global discourse on terrorism reshaped the international environment in ways that momentarily favored Colombo. The government successfully reframed its conflict with the LTTE within the emerging global war on terror, aligning its domestic struggle with a broader international narrative. Yet this new flexibility also deepened Sri Lanka’s dependence on selective bilateral partnerships, further eroding its earlier multilateral engagement. Where Sri Lanka had once sought to influence regional and global forums as a moral voice of the Indian Ocean—guided by the winds of non-alignment—it now navigated more turbulent waters, steering toward bilateral alliances dictated by immediate security needs.

The end of the civil war in May 2009 appeared to open a new chapter in Sri Lanka’s international relations. The military defeat of the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) allowed the state to reassert territorial sovereignty and reimagine its strategic role within the Indian Ocean order. This post-war moment also revealed a deeper contradiction: the triumph of military victory coincided with a loss of international legitimacy. Freed from the immediate pressures of conflict, Colombo embarked on ambitious reconstruction and development initiatives, seeking partners beyond its traditional Western sphere.

Since the end of the war, Sri Lanka’s strategic position has evolved significantly, shaped by both its geostrategic location and the international response to alleged violations of International Humanitarian Law (IHL) during the final stages of the conflict. Western powers—particularly the United States, Britain, Canada, and the European Union—pressed Colombo to investigate alleged war crimes committed by both the government and the LTTE. These calls, gaining traction in global diplomatic forums, led to a marked deterioration in relations with Western capitals. Responding to a series of U.S.-backed resolutions at the UN Human Rights Council (UNHRC) became the central preoccupation of Sri Lanka’s post-war diplomacy. Driven by this overriding concern, Colombo increasingly aligned itself with powers capable of shielding it from Western diplomatic and economic pressure (Keerawella 2025)

In this context, relations with China acquired renewed politico-strategic significance. Beijing emerged as a principal defender of Sri Lanka in multilateral arenas, especially the UN Security Council, while simultaneously becoming the island’s largest source of foreign direct investment. Massive infrastructure projects—the Hambantota Port, Mattala Airport, the Southern Expressway, the Norochcholai coal power plant, and the Colombo South Harbour expansion—symbolized this deepening engagement. The 2013 Strategic Cooperative Partnership formalized cooperation across trade, finance, and strategic affairs, anchoring Sri Lanka more firmly within China’s sphere of influence. Alongside China, Pakistan and Russia offered diplomatic cover, reinforcing a pragmatic “Eastern turn” in Colombo’s diplomacy.

However, this reorientation came at a cost. Relations with the United States, the European Union, and India grew increasingly strained as accountability issues dominated international discussions. In response, Sri Lanka adopted a defensive diplomatic posture reminiscent of wartime rhetoric—reasserting sovereignty and rejecting external interference. Although official discourse shifted from war to peace and development, the underlying psychology of resistance persisted.

By 2015, the Yahapalana government sought to regain Sri Lanka’s lost international legitimacy by re-engaging with Western democracies and regional partners such as India, while preserving cooperative ties with China. This ambitious recalibration of foreign policy was closely intertwined with its commitment to domestic reconciliation and accountability mechanisms—objectives that had become central to restoring credibility abroad. Yet, these international undertakings soon collided with entrenched domestic political realities. Although the government introduced several initiatives to promote reconciliation and accountability, growing resistance in the South and divisions within the ruling coalition weakened their implementation. The Yahapalana leadership thus found itself caught between the crosswinds of international expectations and domestic opposition. Its inability to reconcile these competing pressures exposed the fragility of its consensus politics and ultimately left the government adrift—unable to sail successfully in either wind.

President Gotabaya Rajapaksa

, foreign policy again gravitated toward a more security-centered and China-friendly orientation, though domestic political and economic crises soon overwhelmed these ambitions. By the early 2020s, Sri Lanka found itself entangled—by design and by default—in the geopolitical currents of the Indian Ocean, its ports, debt obligations, and maritime position becoming focal points of great-power rivalry.

The emergence of the National Peoples’ Power (NPP) government marks yet another phase in Sri Lanka’s evolving foreign policy trajectory. Inheriting a complex political and strategic heritage, the new regime faces the enduring winds and waves of the Indian Ocean—an arena shaped by competing regional and global forces. As Karl Marx observed, “Men make their own history, but they do not make it as they please; they do not make it under self-selected circumstances, but under circumstances existing already, given and transmitted from the past. The tradition of all dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living” (Marx 1852). This observation aptly captures the predicament confronting the NPP leadership: they must chart a new course in external relations while bearing the weight of accumulated legacies—strategic dependence, debt, and geopolitical vulnerability. Early indications suggest that the government is navigating these turbulent waters with caution, balancing idealistic aspirations for sovereignty and equity with the pragmatic necessity of engaging major powers in a volatile regional environment. Only time will reveal whether this cautious navigation will yield a more autonomous and principled foreign policy, or whether structural constraints will once again define the limits of Sri Lanka’s diplomatic agency.

The post-2009 era thus embodies both continuity and transformation. The moral–normative ideals of earlier decades—sovereignty, peace, and independence—continue to inform official discourse, but they now coexist uneasily with pragmatic alignments, economic dependency, and strategic vulnerability. Sri Lankan diplomacy seeks equilibrium in a multipolar world while remaining haunted by the psychological legacies of siege and moral loss. This ambivalent posture is not entirely new. During the Cold War, Colombo’s adherence to non-alignment masked a pragmatic recognition of regional realities: while championing anti-imperialist causes in global forums, Sri Lanka quietly cooperated with Western and Indian security interests to safeguard its own stability. The post-2009 period represents a contemporary parallel. As Chinese investment expanded under the Belt and Road Initiative, Sri Lanka sought to reassure India and the United States through parallel gestures—naval cooperation, affirmations of neutrality, and participation in Indo-Pacific dialogues—without formally aligning with any military bloc.

Such behaviour reflects a distinctive small-state hedging strategy: economic bandwagoning combined with political balancing. It aligns with the concept of “omni-enmeshment,” whereby smaller powers embed themselves in multiple, overlapping networks—economic, diplomatic, and security-related—to mitigate dependency on any single actor. For Sri Lanka, these networks encompass bilateral partnerships, multilateral institutions, and normative appeals to international law. Yet ambiguity carries its own risks. The flexibility that preserves autonomy can also generate mistrust among partners and domestic critics alike. The controversy over the 2017 Hambantota Port lease—often mischaracterized as a “debt trap”—illustrated the delicate balance between economic necessity and perceptions of sovereignty loss. Similarly, oscillations between alignments with India, China, and the West underscore the limits of strategic ambiguity when domestic institutions are weak and policy coherence erodes. (Part III to be published tomorrow)

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Opinion

When crisis comes to classroom:

Published

12 hours ago

2025/12/15

Sahan Weerasooriya

Sri Lanka Navy helping schoolchildren during the recent floods

How Sri Lankan children face natural disasters and economic problems

Sri Lanka has always found ways to survive storms. But during the past ten years, the storms have come more often and with more force. Floods have swallowed villages, landslides have buried homes, droughts have dried wells, and cyclones have pushed families out of their coastal towns. Then came the economic crisis in 2022 and 2023, which felt like an invisible disaster happening quietly inside every home. In the middle of all this were our schoolchildren. Their names rarely appeared in newspapers. Many of their stories were never told. A new study brings these voices together and shows how overlapping crises have reshaped education across the island. It also reveals something important: not all children suffered the same way.

This article tells that story through the experiences of teachers, parents and children. It also explains why some regions, some ethnic communities and some families struggled much more than others.

A decade of disruption

Over the past decade, Sri Lanka’s school system has been hit again and again. Floods in Ratnapura, Kalutara and Galle have become almost yearly events. Landslides in Badulla and Nuwara Eliya have cut off whole communities. Cyclones in Batticaloa and Ampara have damaged classrooms and left children in fear. Long droughts in the North and East have forced families to live with empty wells.

Then the economic crisis arrived. It brought fuel shortages, food shortages, transport problems, high prices and a heavy sense of uncertainty. Teachers stood in long queues just to buy a few litres of petrol. Parents struggled to buy exercise books. School buses stopped running. Many children stayed home. A school principal from the hill country said he could not remember a single year without crisis. “One month we have floods. The next month we have landslides,” he said. “The children keep losing learning time.” These experiences echo earlier concerns raised by Angela Little (2003) and Harsha Aturupane (2014), who showed that rural, estate and conflict-affected areas have always faced extra barriers. The new study suggests that recent disasters have made those old inequalities even wider.

When geography decides a child’s future

Sri Lanka is small, but the risks children face depend heavily on where they live. In the flood-prone river areas, schools often close for long periods. Many become temporary shelters filled with families, mats, cooking pots and clothing. Teachers say it can take weeks to clean and reopen classrooms. In the estate sector, children live high in the hills. When a landslide blocks a single narrow road, school simply stops. A teacher in Badulla said she once walked six kilometres during landslide season just to reach her students. “Some days I held on to tree roots to climb,” she said with a tired smile.

In cyclone-prone districts like Batticaloa and Ampara, fear becomes part of childhood. When the wind changes, parents start to worry. School roofs fly off. Books get soaked. Homes crumble. Recovery takes time, and many families cannot afford repairs.

In the drought-hit North and East, children sometimes miss school because they must help their mothers collect water. Teachers say these children return dusty, tired and unable to focus. Lalith Perera (2015) showed how geospatial tools can identify the highest-risk schools. The new study supports his findings and shows that children in these areas lose far more learning days than children in urban schools.

Ethnicity adds another layer to the struggle

Sri Lanka’s ethnic geography shapes children’s lives in deep ways. Tamil families in the North and East still face the long shadow of war-related poverty and lack of resources, as described by Shanmugaratnam (2015) and Samarasinghe (2020). Many schools in these areas are old, understaffed and in poor condition. When a cyclone or drought hits, recovery becomes slow and difficult. A teacher in Mullaitivu said her classroom lost its roof during a storm. “The children sat under a tree for weeks,” she recalled. “They still came. They did not want to fall behind.”

Muslim communities along the Eastern coast face frequent displacement during cyclonic seasons. When fishing families lose their boats and nets, income disappears. Children often miss school because parents cannot afford uniforms or bus fares.

Estate Tamil communities, studied earlier by Little and Jayaweera, continue to face long-term marginalisation. Many children rely heavily on school meal programmes. When the economic crisis disrupted these meals, teachers saw hunger more clearly than ever. Some children fainted in class.

In all these communities, ethnicity and geography combine to create layers of disadvantage that are hard to escape.

The economic crisis: A silent blow to education

The economic crisis of 2022–2023 affected every Sri Lankan home, but its impact was especially hard on low-income families. Economists like Nisha Arunatilake (2022) and Ramani Gunatilaka (2022) have shown how inflation and job losses pushed households into deep stress. These pressures directly affected children’s education.

With no fuel, many teachers could not travel. They walked long distances or hitchhiked. In some schools, several classes were combined because only a few teachers could come. School supplies became expensive. Parents reused old books or bought cheap, low-quality paper. Uniforms were patched many times. Some children wore slippers because shoes were too costly. Food shortages made everything worse. With rising prices, families reduced meals. In the estate sector, teachers saw hunger growing. Attendance fell.

Gender roles also shifted. Girls in rural areas took on childcare and cooking while parents worked longer hours. Boys were pushed into temporary labour. A mother in Monaragala said her teenage son cut timber to support the family. “He comes home exhausted,” she said. “How can he study after that?” Earlier, Selvy Jayaweera (2014) warned that crises deepen gender inequalities. The new study shows that her warning has come true again.

Schools tried to cope, but not all were ready

During field visits, researchers met principals who showed remarkable leadership. Some created disaster committees, organised awareness programmes and kept strong communication with parents. These schools recovered fast. Communities helped clean classrooms. Teachers volunteered for extra lessons. But many schools struggled. Some had no emergency plans. Others had old buildings damaged from past disasters. Some principals lacked training in crisis response. A few schools did not even have complete first aid boxes.

The difference between prepared and unprepared schools became painfully clear. After a cyclone in Batticaloa, one school restarted within a week. A nearby school stayed closed for nearly a month because debris and broken furniture filled the classrooms. Resilience expert Rajib Shaw (2012) highlighted the importance of strong partnerships between schools and communities. This study confirms that his message still holds true.

Families found ways to cope, but children paid the price

Every Sri Lankan family has its own survival strategies. Some borrow money. Some rely on relatives abroad. Some work extra hours. Some move to other districts. But these strategies often disrupt children’s schooling. When a father leaves home for work in another district, children lose emotional support. When a mother works late at a tea estate, older daughters must care for younger siblings. When a family moves temporarily, children lose teachers, routines and friends. A father in Ratnapura said he felt torn. “I want my daughter to study,” he said. “But how can I think of school when the river rises every year and we lose everything?” Years ago, sociologist K. T. Silva (2010) wrote about how poverty and displacement interrupt education. The new study shows that these patterns continue today.

How crises make old inequalities worse

One strong message from the study is that disasters do not create inequality they deepen what already exists. Rural schools with fewer resources suffer greater damage. Estate children who already face hunger become even more vulnerable. Tamil and Muslim families in hazard-prone areas must deal with both environmental and historical burdens.

Climate disasters also come in cycles. One flood does not end the struggle. Children who lose one month of school every year slowly fall behind. Their confidence drops. Their chances of continuing to higher education shrink. Meanwhile, well-resourced urban schools recover quickly. They have strong buildings, better communication and supportive parents. Their losses are small and temporary. The gap between privileged and vulnerable children grows wider each year.

What Sri Lanka can do now

Sri Lanka stands at a turning point. Climate change will bring more storms and droughts. The economy is still fragile. Schools must be prepared.

Every school needs a clear emergency plan. Preparedness should be part of daily school life safer buildings, evacuation routes, first aid training, and strong communication networks. Vulnerable regions need extra support. Flood-prone river basins, cyclone-hit coasts, drought-affected northern districts and the estate sector require more funding and attention. School meals must be protected. For many children, this meal is the difference between hunger and hope.

Teachers need help with transport and crisis training. Families need social protection so children are not forced into labour or long absences. Most importantly, education policy must place fairness at the centre. As Aturupane (2014) explained, equality cannot be achieved by giving all schools the same amount. Some schools need more because their burdens are heavier.

Stories that should guide policy

The most powerful part of this research is not the statistics. It is the stories:

A boy in Ratnapura losing his schoolbag to the floods.A teacher in Badulla walking through mud for her students.A mother in Batticaloa cooking in a cyclone shelter.A girl in Mullaitivu studying under a tree after her classroom roof blew away.A Muslim family in Ampara sheltering in a mosque during every storm.A Tamil child in Kilinochchi missing school to fetch water during drought.

These are the voices policymakers must listen to.

A future that values every child

Sri Lanka’s future depends on the minds of its children. If classrooms become unstable places, the country’s future becomes uncertain. But there is hope. Many teachers showed deep dedication. Many parents worked tirelessly to keep their children in school. Many communities showed unity and strength. If the government builds on this resilience through better planning, fairer funding and stronger support for vulnerable regions children’s dreams can survive the storms ahead. What we choose today will decide whether the next generation inherits disaster or opportunity.

References

Aturupane, H. (2014). Equity and Access in Sri Lankan Education. World Bank.Arunatilake, N. (2022). Economic Vulnerability and Social Protection in Times of Crisis. Institute of Policy Studies.Fernando, P. (2018). Household Vulnerability and Educational Participation in Rural Sri Lanka. SAGE Publications.Gunatilaka, R. (2022). The Impact of Economic Shocks on Sri Lankan Households. International Labour Organization.Jayaweera, S. (2014). Gender Dimensions of Educational Inequality in Sri Lanka. Centre for Women’s Research.Little, A. W. (2003). Education, Conflict and Social Cohesion in Sri Lanka. UNESCO.Perera, L. (2015). Geospatial Approaches to Educational Planning in Disaster-Prone Regions. Asian Development Bank.Samarasinghe, V. (2020). Regional Inequalities and Social Exclusion in Sri Lanka. Routledge.Shanmugaratnam, N. (2015). Post-War Development and Marginalisation in Northern Sri Lanka. Nordic Asia Press.Shaw, R. (2012). Community-Based Disaster Risk Reduction and School Resilience. Earthscan.Silva, K. T. (2010). Poverty, Displacement, and Educational Access in Sri Lanka. Social Scientists’ Association.UNICEF Sri Lanka. (2018). School Safety and Disaster Preparedness in Sri Lanka.

Opinion

The policy of Sinhala Only and downgrading of English

Published

1 day ago

2025/12/14

Thilina Walpola

In 1956 a Sri Lankan politician riding a great surge of populism, made a move that, at a stroke, disabled a functioning civil society operating in the English language medium in Sri Lanka. He had thrown the baby out with the bathwater.

It was done to huge, ecstatic public joy and applause at the time but in truth, this action had serious ramifications for the country, the effects have, no doubt, been endlessly mulled over ever since.

However, there is one effect/ aspect that cannot be easily dismissed – the use of legal English of an exact technical quality used for dispensing Jurisprudence (certainty and rational thought). These court certified decisions engendered confidence in law, investment and business not only here but most importantly, among the international business community.

Well qualified, rational men, Judges, thought rationally and impartially through all the aspects of a case in Law brought before them. They were expert in the use of this specialised English, with all its meanings and technicalities – but now, a type of concise English hardly understandable to the casual layman who may casually look through some court proceedings of yesteryear.

They made clear and precise rulings on matters of Sri Lankan Law. These were guiding principles for administrative practice. This body of case law knowledge has been built up over the years before Independence. This was in fact, something extremely valuable for business and everyday life. It brought confidence and trust – essential for conducting business.

English had been developed into a precise tool for analysing and understanding a problem, a matter, or a transaction. Words can have specific meanings, they were not, merely, the play- thing of those producing “fake news”. English words as used at that time, had meaning – they carried weight and meaning – the weight of the law!

Now many progressive countries around the world are embracing English for good economic and cultural reasons, but in complete contrast little Sri Lanka has gone into reverse!

A minority of the Sinhalese population, (the educated ones!) could immediately see at the time the problems that could arise by this move to down-grade English including its high-quality legal determinations. Unfortunately, seemingly, with the downgrading of English came a downgrading of the quality of inter- personal transactions.

A second failure was the failure to improve the “have nots” of the villagers by education. Knowledge and information can be considered a universal right. Leonard Woolf’s book “A village in the Jungle” makes use of this difference in education to prove a point. It makes infinitely good politics to reduce this education gap by education policies that rectify this important disadvantage normal people of Sri Lanka have.

But the yearning of educators to upgrade the education system as a whole, still remains a distant goal. Advanced English spoken language is encouraged individually but not at a state level. It has become an orphaned child. It is the elites that can read the standard classics such as Treasure Island or Sherlock Holmes and enjoy them.

But, perhaps now, with the country in the doldrums, more people will come to reflect on these failures of foresight and policy implementation. Isn’t the doldrums all the proof you need?

by Priyantha Hettige

Opinion

GOODBYE, DEAR SIR

Published

2 days ago

2025/12/14

Thilina Walpola

It is with deep gratitude and profound sorrow that we remember Mr. K. L. F. Wijedasa, remarkable athletics coach whose influence reached far beyond the track. He passed away on November 4, exactly six months after his 93rd birthday, having led an exemplary and disciplined life that enabled him to enjoy such a long and meaningful innings. To those he trained, he was not only a masterful coach but a mentor, a friend, a steady father figure, and an enduring source of inspiration. His wisdom, kindness, and unwavering belief in every young athlete shaped countless lives, leaving a legacy that will continue to echo in the hearts of all who were fortunate enough to be guided by him.

I was privileged to be one of the many athletes who trained under his watchful eye from the time Mr. Wijedasa began his close association with Royal College in 1974. He was largely responsible for the golden era of athletics at Royal College from 1973 to 1980. In all but one of those years, Royal swept the board at all the leading Track & Field Championships — from the Senior and Junior Tarbat Shields to the Daily News Trophy Relay Carnival. Not only did the school dominate competitions, but it also produced star-class athletes such as sprinter Royce Koelmeyer; sprint and long & triple jump champions Godfrey Fernando and Ravi Waidyalankara; high jumper and pole vaulter Cletus Dep; Olympic 400m runner Chrisantha Ferdinando; sprinters Roshan Fernando and the Indraratne twins, Asela and Athula; and record-breaking high jumper Dr. Dharshana Wijegunasinghe, to name just a few.

Royal had won the Senior & Junior Tarbats as well as the Relay Carnival in 1973 by a whisker and was looking for a top-class coach to mould an exceptionally talented group of athletes for 1974 and beyond. This was when Mr. Wijedasa entered the scene, beginning a lifelong relationship with the athletes of Royal College from 1974 to 1987. He received excellent support from the then Principal, late Mr. L. D. H. Pieris; Vice Principal, late Mr. E. C. Gunesekera; and Masters-in-Charge Mr. Dharmasena, Mr. M. D. R. Senanayake, and Mr. V. A. B. Samarakone, with whom he maintained a strong and respectful rapport throughout his tenure.

An old boy of several schools — beginning at Kandegoda Sinhala Mixed School in his hometown, moving on to Dharmasoka Vidyalaya, Ambalangoda, Moratu Vidyalaya, and finally Ananda College — he excelled in both sports and studies. He later graduated in Geography, from the University of Peradeniya. During his undergraduate days, he distinguished himself as a sprinter, establishing a new National Record in the 100 metres in 1955. Beyond academics and sports, Mr. Wijedasa also demonstrated remarkable talent in drama.

Though proudly an Anandian, he became equally a Royalist through his deep association with Royal’s athletics from the 1970s. So strong was this bond that he eventually admitted his only son, Duminda, to Royal College. The hallmark of Mr. Wijedasa was his tireless dedication and immense patience as a mentor. Endurance and power training were among his strengths —disciplines that stood many of us in good stead long after we left school.

More than champions on the track, it is the individuals we became in later life that bear true testimony to his loving guidance. Such was his simplicity and warmth that we could visit him and his beloved wife, Ransiri, without appointment. Even long after our school days, we remained in close touch. Those living overseas never failed to visit him whenever they returned to Sri Lanka. These visits were filled with fond reminiscences of our sporting days, discussions on world affairs, and joyful moments of singing old Sinhala songs that he treasured.

It was only fitting, therefore, that on his last birthday on May 4 this year, the Old Royalists’ Athletic Club (ORAC) honoured him with a biography highlighting his immense contribution to athletics at Royal. I was deeply privileged to co-author this book together with Asoka Rodrigo, another old boy of the school.

Royal, however, was not the first school he coached. After joining the tutorial staff of his alma mater following graduation, he naturally coached Ananda College before moving on to Holy Family Convent, Bambalapitiya — where he first met the “love of his life,” Ransiri, a gifted and versatile sportswoman. She was not only a national champion in athletics but also a top netballer and basketball player in the 1960s. After his long and illustrious stint at Royal College, he went on to coach at schools such as Visakha Vidyalaya and Belvoir International.

The school arena was not his only forte. Mr. Wijedasa also produced several top national athletes, including D. K. Podimahattaya, Vijitha Wijesekera, Lionel Karunasena, Ransiri Serasinghe, Kosala Sahabandu, Gregory de Silva, Sunil Gunawardena, Prasad Perera, K. G. Badra, Surangani de Silva, Nandika de Silva, Chrisantha Ferdinando, Tamara Padmini, and Anula Costa. Apart from coaching, he was an efficient administrator as Director of Physical Education at the University of Colombo and held several senior positions in national sporting bodies. He served as President of the Amateur Athletic Association of Sri Lanka in 1994 and was also a founder and later President of the Ceylonese Track & Field Club. He served with distinction as a national selector, starter, judge, and highly qualified timekeeper.

The crowning joy of his life was seeing his legacy continue through his children and grandchildren. His son, Duminda, was a prominent athlete at Royal and later a National Squash player in the 1990s. In his later years, Mr. Wijedasa took great pride in seeing his granddaughter, Tejani, become a reputed throwing champion at Bishop’s College, where she currently serves as Games Captain. Her younger brother, too, is a promising athlete.

He is survived by his beloved wife, Ransiri, with whom he shared 57 years of a happy and devoted marriage, and by their two children, Duminda and Puranya. Duminda, married to Debbie, resides in Brisbane, Australia, with their two daughters, Deandra and Tennille. Puranya, married to Ruvindu, is blessed with three children — Madhuke, Tejani, and Dharishta.

Though he has left this world, the values he instilled, the lives he shaped, and the spirit he ignited on countless tracks and fields will live on forever — etched in the hearts of generations who were privileged to call him Sir (Coach).

NIRAJ DE MEL, Athletics Captain of Royal College 1976

Deputy Chairman, Old Royalists’ Athletics Club (ORAC)