Features
Being blooded into the Ceylon Army in 1971
Gotabaya R was in that officer intake
By Maj Gen (Rtd) Nanda Mallawaarachchi VSV
History bears evidence that the consolidation of a security arm of any country has its origins in a crisis.
In Sri Lanka, formerly known as Ceylon, it fell on the world’s first woman Prime Minister, Mrs. Sirima Bandaranaike, to face an insurrection by the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna better idenfified as the JVP. Through attacks on Police Stations that began on April 5, 1971, their abortive attempt to overthrow a lawfully elected government began with an attempt to seize weapons.
Using shotguns, locally turned-out Gal Kattas and other improvised weapons they attacked the Wellawaya Police Station pre-dawn. Whether this launch was the result of mixed up communications or not, it did alert both the Police and the Armed Forces
Whether this group received wrong information regarding the date of the attack is arguable. Whatever the case, the JVP’s overall strategy and tactics utilized failed to overthrow the government. Unlike the present day, the Armed Forces of the 70s were miniscule in comparison. The Police Force was the main bastion of the state. To overcome future eventualities, Mrs. Bandaranaike took the crucial decision to expand the then Ceylon Army. As a result, 30 officer cadets, the largest contingent since the inception of the Ceylon Army, were recruited on April 26, 1971. It was to be Officer Cadet Intake 4. Nandasena Gotabaya Rajapaksa was among them.
I was fortunate to join 29 other school leavers to embark on an epic journey. Having reported to the Army Recruiting Officer at Army Head Quarters on Lower Lake Road (later Baladasksha Mawatha), we went through the enlistment procedure. We were now officially Officer Cadets with Cadet number C/51183 assigned to me including a princely monthly salary of SLR 430.00.
After being accommodated in a billet at the Headquarter Company of the Army HQ, we were served dinner. On the following day all of us were bundled into a rickety old Army bus for the journey to the Army Training Centre (ATC) in Diyatalawa. We were escorted all the way to the ATC by a dashing young Captain. We never saw him again until we passed out as officers and joined our respective regiments. (Later we recognised this dashing Captain as the “Aide-de Camp” to the then Army Commander, Major General Sepala Attygalle.
The bus ride to Diyatalawa was of course the time for dreams. A smart jungle green uniform with umpteen pips on the shoulders, sitting rigidly in an Army jeep being driven around was a favourite scene for all of us. Talk about pies in the sky! Instead of jeeps, we were carted around in a WW II era 4T transporter in which the tailgate was never lowered. Getting in and out of this vehicle was therefore a challenge. Cursing and swearing during this high risk manoeuvre was a regular norm for us in addition to being ingrained with the military term “debussing”!
Diyatalawa was a different kettle of fish to what we were used to where the weather was concerned. If it was shock tactics we were supposed to be subjected to, then it worked perfectly. It was freezing cold during nights. The blankets, probably of World War I vintage, did little to keep us warm. The next day after the attendance being noted, we were issued with the Universal Army Kit Bag, better know as the “Ali Kakula” and the AFQ-1 items issued to a recruit. These consisted of basic items such as an aluminium plate, a mug, a mess tin etc. Various types of uniforms were also issued including berets, cap badges, collar badges and the likes.
Once the “kit issue” parade was concluded and the newly acquired items packed inside the “Ali Kakula“, it weighed at least 20 kg. The fun had just begun! We were then taken on a “camp visit” with strict orders for the “Ali Kakula” to be held over our heads. It was however not a walk in the park but a camp tour “on the double”, a medium paced jogging speed. The “Ali Kakula” was not allowed to be kept on the ground at any time during the “Observation tour”. What a spectacle we would have made; dressed formally in shirt, formal trousers and neck-tie carrying the Universal Kit Bag over our heads.
Ten minutes were allocated for us thereafter to change into out PT kits and report. There we were, punctually, in white shorts, white T shirt, white socks and white canvas PT shoes for the next round of manoeuvres. Frog-jumps, Forward rolls and the likes were thereafter executed under the hawk eyes of the Under Officer from Intake 3. The initial briefing in the Cadets’ Café by the Chief Instructor, Major SP De Silva of the CLI, still echoes in the writer’s mind. “Gentlemen, welcome to the Ceylon Army” he said. “We will break you and re-make you in such a manner that nobody, repeat nobody, will be able to break you ever again!”
For three long months thereafter it was being “ground into the ground”. Gruelling lessons, drill, parades and the deadly billet and uniform inspections. We spent most nights in a foxhole (two-man trench) defending the camp with rain and freezing cold as team members. It was a miracle that nobody lost teeth due to the constant chattering. There was no respite in the mornings thereafter. Roll call was once again at 0530h. The camp buglers ensured that we were up prior to the rooster’s call.
PT, ablutions and breakfast thereafter was the routine. Half a loaf of bread, pol sambol and gravy with a banana thrown in; was the gourmet breakfast menu, day in day out. We ate fast as the small amount of gravy in the plate might otherwise have evaporated. All movements during this time within the camp were “on the double”. The entire batch of officer cadets would be moving “on the double” from the billet to the mess hall, from the mess hall to the training area, from the training area to the lecture hall etc. Dozing off during lectures was a norm for some due to physical fatigue. The Spartans from the days of yore would have been proud of our training regime.
By the third week of this “breaking us” (prior to remaking us), we had hit an extreme situation where morale was concerned. “Decamping” was a common topic of discussion amongst us. One cadet threw in the towel during the first week; he could not take it anymore. The initial financial bond which we all had to sign at “A” Branch of Army HQ, compelling us to pay a proportionate amount to the Army in the event we resigned, might have been psychological balm that motivated some cadets to carry on. By and by, we gradually got used to the training whereas rules allowed us to “march” instead of moving “on the double” between venues after the first month.
Teachers form an integral part of anything taught. A teacher could make the training interesting and absorbing or make it lacklustre for the student not to learn at all. We had a batch of disciplined instructors of sterling quality who ensured that we learnt all that was supposed to be learnt. Discipline in parallel was ingrained into us from day one. The Commandant of the then Army Training Centre (ATC), was none other than Lt. Col. Denis Perera (later the Army Commander), a stickler for discipline. No slack was tolerated at any time. He would occasionally visit us during our theory classes held at that time in the Cadets’ Café. You could hear a pin drop during the silence that followed.
The military lecturer, after obtaining permission, would carry on with the lecture. Any cadet dozing off, would suddenly be jolted back to life when his name was fired after a question was posed by the Commandant himself. He was omniprescent, his rough and commanding voice unmistakable. He would drive around the cantonment in his personal vehicle. The Mercedes Benz with its registration number 5 Sri 111, is still etched in this writer’s mind.
We learnt tactics, fieldcraft, map reading and current affairs. Leadership studies of course overarched all courses. Military tactics such as defilading, enfilading and reverse slope manoeuvres began to haunt us thereafter in our dreams. WO 2 Peris of the Armoured Corps, as the “Cadet Wing” Se argent Major, equipped with the pace stick, taught us drill. Corporal Dassanayake of the Signal Corps was the specialist teacher on signals theory and practices. Corporal Cyril the PT Instructor made us physically fit and robust. Gymnastics, “horse work” and rope climbing were to become a norm during this time. Corporal Cyril also took us on walks and runs up to the Diyatalawa City Marker in the direction of Haputale. Corporal Wreeves, the explosives expert from the Engineers taught us the use of minor explosive devices. He also had the dubious honour of checking us inside the foxholes at night and meting out punishment to whoever was caught sleeping.
Corporal Thusiman, the perpetual disciplinarian, was ever ready to mete out extra punishments. Corporal Boyagoda was the compassionate one checking on our wellbeing at all times. While we were busy during military drill at the Parade Square, our billets were inspected by the Under Officer or Course Commander for orderliness and cleanliness. Anything “out of line, balance and sheen” was rewarded with “pack-drill” during afternoons and night.
Weapon training was another adventure. We were issued the 22 during the first term and trained to shoot at indoor targets at 50y meters. Later we used the legendary Short Magazine Lee Enfield rifle (known as the “Smellie” during WW II), better known as the 303, with five rounds in the magazine. Natural sense prevailed when adjusting the sights. It was “click-up” or “click-down” for elevation during sighting. We developed a healthy respect for the weapon. Woe betide anybody having a space between the rifle butt and “anterior deltoid” during prone firing exercises. The 303’s recoil was so powerful that a mule kick, in comparison, could have been considered a pleasant experience.
It was a miracle there were no broken shoulder blades. The bayonet and the 303 were also a deadly combination. We were mighty careful during rifle drill, especially during “slope arms” with the bayonet fitted. The bayonet would have pierced the right cheek had we not been careful. We used the 303 even as officers in the various units till the advent of the “self-loading rifle” era. The 303 was used for Inter Unit Firing Competitions where we had to hit the “bull” on a 10’ x 10’ target at 1000 yards. The “click-up” and “click-down” adjustments came in handy during these extreme distances.
We were allowed to leave the camp for a day out after our first term of training. Terms and conditions still applied. We could only go out in pairs. We had to keep step when walking and walk abreast. Polished shoes, smart trousers, pressed long sleeved shirt, neck tie and blazer were a must. The writer remembers getting “Seiyathu” the tailor, to sew his blazer. It was a matter of undertaking a couple of fittings before the blazer was ready. The day out was of course memorable. We would make a dash to Bandarawela by bus; a one way ticket cost 30 cents. The Chinese Restaurant operated by Mr. Lee was one of our favourite haunts. A bottle of beer was Rs 6.00 whereas a sumptuous meal was Rs. 9.00. The Hidaya Bakery was another restaurant we used to frequent. We would walk the entire length of the Main Road from the Bus stand, past the Market building down to Cyril Studio and back to get on the bus for the return to the Camp.
We were taken to Lahugala for a thirty-three day “Jungle Training” during our final term of training. Captain Wijaya Wimalaratne (posthumously promoted to Major General in 1992) who had returned from Malaysia after having followed the Malayan Jungle Course was to be our instructor. The then Malayan Army having fought a long drawn jungle warfare campaign had managed to defeat communist insurgents. This experience had been condensed into a few jungle warfare books and pamphlets and published. These publications would initially serve as basic theory for us.
Captain Wimalaratne was to conduct the practical training for us. He had designed and built a “Jungle Base” consisting of a billet for thirty officer cadets, accommodation for the officer instructors, other rank Instructors and cook house etc. The base was located adjacent to the ‘Heda Oya’, thereby ensuring a regular supply of clean water.
The cadets divided into three sections were taken into elephant infested jungle, progressively penetrating deeper and deeper into the dense foliage where the jungle canopy did not even allow the sun to penetrate and where advancing even a metre required the use of machetes. Ambushing the enemy, counter ambushing drills, Immediate Action drills (IA Drills) etc. were the norms during this time. It was 33 days of hell. The conditions were exacerbated due to real life scenarios. There was no possibility of bathing for up to five days. Drinking water was limited and carried in our water canteens. The only food allowed was “meal ready to eat” (MRE), where the quantities consisted of no more than two to three tablespoons.
The Jungle Warfare Training started during the Intake 4 era, morphed from the initial embryo stage into a fully functional streamlined, professional training in later years. The credit for organizing and streamlining this training goes to the late Major General Wijaya Wimalaratne, who was known as “Jungle Wimale” amongst our batch mates.
We started rehearsals for the “Passing out Parade” (POP) exactly two months prior to the event. This was to be the hightpoint of our training and subsequent graduation. We were eager to become commissioned officers. All rehearsals included the sword and the scabbard. The sword of course symbolised “the commission” presented by the Governor General of Ceylon. Full dress rehearsals were held two to three weeks prior to the event again so that we were fully versed with the process and utilization of full regalia. The Hon. Lakshman Jayakody (Deputy Minister of Defence) was the Chief Guest at the POP. Nineteen cadets passed out in 1972 as Second Lieutenants. We were officers of the Ceylon Army. Our pride knew no bounds! The commissioning dinner was thereafter held at the Ceylinco House (opposite the Central Bank) in Colombo which at that time was the tallest building in the country.
As new commissioned officers, we had the option of joining a unit of our choice. This of course was based on the number of vacancies in that particular unit and our aptitude for the unit’s speciality. Most got their chosen unit whereas some did not. However all batchmates settled in where they were posted to develop a professional military career. The writer was posted to the Ceylon Light Infantry (CLI), an ambition fulfilled. This would be the start once again of other specialised training for us, the freshly baked Second Lieutenants. The training in Diyatalawa was a foundation at the beginning of a career. It broke us in a way and remoulded us to fit a specific role. We were taught never to give up and to find options and solutions. Now, light years away from the gruelling training we can look back at those days with nostalgia.
Us batchmates, were many and we definitely were different. Some were physically strong, some mentally. Each had his own strengths and weaknesses. We managed to amalgamate into a strong group and exploit our strengths, which were to prove crucial in later years. We managed to provide moral strength to each other. Whatever was thrown at us, good or bad, was accepted with courage and purpose. We never looked down on our colleagues until unless it was, literally, to give them a helping hand.
Our batch accepted all challenges that came our way in life. Some of us rose to the highest ranks in the military. We served our country and proved ourselves in combat with heads held high. Let us also bow our heads for a moment in silence to remember the batchmates not with us today. Some of us upon retirement from our “employer” went on to accept other challenges. “The batch” produced Secretaries of various Ministries, Directors-General of Departments and Ambassadors who represented the country. Intake 4 should also be the proudest batch of Officer Cadets.
Officer Cadet C/51185, our batchmate of Intake 4, Gotabaya Rajapaksa, went on to become the nation’s Defence Secretary and subsequently the incumbent Executive President! Allow me, on behalf of the entire Intake 4, to wish His Excellency, the best in fulfilling his duties. Thus a saga undertaken in 1971 has continued to this day. Strong foundations laid 50 years back have enabled us to build even stronger structures throughout our journeys in life.
Features
Own the car or let the App drive?
The real cost of daily travel in urban Sri Lanka
For many middle-class Sri Lankans, the private car still carries connotations of stability, dignity, and upward mobility. Yet in today’s Sri Lanka, with petrol at Rs. 434 per litre, following the Ceylon Petroleum Corporation’s revision, effective 30 May, 2026, loan-to-value ratios tightened to 40% requiring a 60% down payment, and ride-hailing apps now joined by app-based three-wheelers, the question of whether to own a car has become sharper than ever. The answer is not emotional but economic: for ordinary day-to-day travel, is it actually cheaper and wiser to own a car, or to let the app do the work?
Take a generic urban Sri Lankan commuter making a 40 km daily round trip to office and back, with routine errands built in. That is about 880 km a month across 22 working days. At that level of usage, the arithmetic becomes surprisingly clear: for a large group of moderate urban users, app-based mobility, whether a car or a three-wheeler, is financially smarter than owning a car, unless the non-financial benefits of ownership matter deeply enough to justify the premium.
The Sri Lankan distortion:
cars cost too much
In most developed economies, cars are consumer durables. In Sri Lanka, they behave more like luxury financial assets. A moderate vehicle, such as a Toyota Raize or Honda Civic, often costs several times what a comparable car would in a developed market, once taxes, import restrictions, and scarcity are priced in.
Assume a moderate privately used car priced at 10 million. Under the Central Bank’s current 40% LTV directive, the buyer may borrow only 40% against the vehicle’s value, requiring a 60% down payment of 6 million and a five-year lease on the remaining 4 million. At a typical Sri Lankan leasing rate of 14% per annum, the monthly lease instalment comes to approximately 93,000. A moderate petrol vehicle averages around 12 km per litre in urban traffic. At Rs. 434 per litre, fuel cost alone is 36 per km, or 31,800 per month for 880 km. Add insurance of 12,000 and a conservative 4,000 for routine running costs, and total cash outgoings reach approximately 140,800 per month.
But cash outgoings alone understate the true cost. The 6 million down payment, if invested elsewhere at 9% per annum, would generate approximately 45,000 per month in foregone return. Adding this opportunity cost, the full economic cost of the moderate car rises to 185,900 per month, or 211 per km.
The app alternatives: car or three-wheeler
Urban Sri Lankan commuters today have many distinct app-based mobility options, each serving different journey types and comfort preferences.
Uber and PickMe (car hire): A premium car hire through Uber or PickMe costs approximately 150 per km. For 880 km of monthly travel, that comes to 132,000 per month. Compared with the moderate owned car at 185,900, the app saves 53,900 per month, or 61 per km. On purely financial terms, the app wins decisively.
App-based three-wheelers: App-based three-wheelers currently charge approximately 110 per km. For 880 km, that is 96,800 per month, saving 89,100 per month and 101 per km compared with the moderate owned car. The tuk-tuk app is the most economical of the three mobility options for short urban trips, though clearly unsuitable for highway travel, poor weather, carrying passengers in formal settings, however, it represents a compelling financial case.
Non-financial advantages of ownership
Transport decisions are never purely accounting exercises. A private car offers privacy, immediate availability, flexibility, and family utility in ways that no app can fully replicate. With your own car, you can leave when you want, stop when you want, change route mid-journey, carry files or groceries without thought, respond to emergencies, and avoid the uncertainty of waiting for a driver to accept your ride. It also becomes a family coordination tool: school drop-offs, medical visits, elderly passengers, unplanned errands, and weekend travel all become easier. In psychological terms, ownership buys autonomy. No app-based alternative, whether car or three-wheeler, provides that.
The hidden burden of car ownership and app limitations
Yet the same car creates stress. Urban Sri Lankan driving is rarely relaxing. Congestion is exhausting, lane discipline is weak, and parking is a recurring headache. Every daily driver absorbs cognitive fatigue that accumulates invisibly over months.
Uber and PickMe remove the burden of driving, fuelling, and servicing. But they introduce their own friction: waiting times, driver cancellations, surge pricing during peak hours or rain, and inconsistent vehicle quality. App three-wheelers add further constraints, limited luggage capacity, exposure to weather, and social context limitations. The app does not eliminate inconvenience; it transforms driving stress into coordination stress.
There is also the administrative burden of ownership that many buyers underestimate. A car is not just a vehicle; it is an asset management project. Lease payments must be tracked, insurance renewed, service appointments remembered, tyres monitored, and documents maintained. Even a low-maintenance new car carries the persistent fear that one breakdown or accident can create a large unexpected outflow. The app user, by contrast, simply pays for completed trips, no garage anxiety, no debt-linked asset stress, no renewal calendar.
Sensitivity analysis: what if the car is a lower-grade Wagon R?
The picture changes if the household opts for a lower-grade entry-level vehicle. Assume a Suzuki Wagon R or equivalent at 6 million, again with a 60% down payment of 3.6 million and a five-year lease on 2.4 million. At 14% per annum, the monthly lease instalment is approximately 55,800.
The smaller car delivers better fuel economy, around 15 km per litre. At 434 per litre, fuel cost becomes 29 per km, or 25,500 per month for 880 km. Add insurance of 7,000 and running costs of 3,000. Including opportunity cost at 9% on the 3.6 million down payment (27,000 per month), the total economic cost is 118,300 per month, 134 per km.
Now the comparison becomes more nuanced. A lower-grade Uber or PickMe alternative costs around 125 per km, or 110,000 per month for 880 km. The gap narrows dramatically: owning the Wagon R costs only 8,300 more per month, just 9 per km, compared with the app car option. The app three-wheeler at 110 per km (96,800 per month) is still materially cheaper, saving 21,500 per month against the lower-grade owned car. (See Table 1)

So, what should an urban Sri Lankan do?
If you travel alone on routine urban routes, the app three-wheeler at 110/km is the most economical option by a wide margin, saving up to 89,100 per month against a moderate owned car. Its limitation is not financial but practical: unsuitable for families, formal occasions, highway travel, and bad weather, but convenient-no stress.
For families, formal occasions, highway travel, and bad weather and convenient-no stress, Uber or PickMe Moderate car at 150/km delivers private-car comfort without the asset burden, saving 53,900 per month against the moderate owned car. The saving is if you get an economy APP car.
If you need family flexibility, late-night mobility, or privacy, ownership remains rational, but preferably through a lower-grade car around 6 million. At 134/km, the Wagon R-type car is only 9/km more than the app car alternative and 24/km more than a tuk-tuk, a gap that autonomy, family convenience, and immediate availability can legitimately justify.
Therefore, in Sri Lanka’s distorted vehicle market, with fuel at LKR434/lt, a 60% mandatory down payment, the Wagon R-type leased car remains relatively a better choice for a family with moderate earnings.
The private car still offers freedom. But in 2026 Sri Lanka, that freedom comes at very different prices. The real question is how much each household can afford to pay for autonomy, prestige, and convenience, and whether the extra 61/km for a moderate leased car, against a perfectly capable app car, or 101/km against a tuk-tuk app, represents a rational expenditure of household income. For most salaried urban commuters, the honest answer is: probably not.
(The writer, a senior Chartered Accountant and professional banker, is Professor at SLIIT, Malabe.
Views expressed in this article are personal.)
Features
Justice and democracy in Sri Lanka’s new political era
The legal processes are steadily closing in on some of the most controversial cases that have remained as open questions without closure for many years. These include the Easter Sunday bombings of 2019, the Treasury bond scam that erupted in 2015, and a range of corruption allegations that became synonymous with successive governments over the past two or more decades. What once appeared to be stalled investigations are now showing signs of movement through the courts and investigative agencies. Recent developments suggest that these long running cases are entering a decisive phase. In the Easter Sunday attacks investigation, new arrests and investigations have brought renewed attention to allegations that extend beyond the immediate perpetrators and into questions of intelligence failures and possible political complicity. The arrest and detention of former intelligence chief Suresh Sallay under the Prevention of Terrorism Act has intensified public interest in uncovering the full truth behind the attacks.
The Treasury bond scam has also re-entered the spotlight. The Supreme Court has recently overturned legal obstacles that had prevented prosecutions from proceeding and directed that the case moves forward expeditiously. This has reopened one of the most sophisticated financial scandals in the country’s recent history and brought several prominent political and financial figures back under legal scrutiny. As those implicated in these unresolved cases are leading figures from previous governments, which have spanned both sides of the political divide since Independence, it can well be imagined that there is tremendous opposition to the gradually enveloping legal processes that is both seen and unseen.
These cases that are now being investigated cut across political camps and involve individuals who occupied some of the highest offices in the country. The result is that resistance to accountability is likely to emerge from many quarters. Still to be opened are the thousands of cases of persons gone missing during the war. Presidential Commissions have been appointed with regard to them, but there has been no serious investigations of the type now taking place.
In these circumstances, it can be surmised that the government led by those who are new to power would wish to retain a maximum of power to face the pushback that is bound to emerge from those in the opposition who have wielded power for generations. The government may calculate that this is not the time to disperse authority or reduce the instruments of state power available to it. Instead, it may believe that a period of centralised control is necessary if investigations, prosecutions and reforms are to proceed without interference.
Provincial Elections
It appears that the opposition’s efforts to mobilise the people and public opinion against the government have not been successful so far. One such instance was the attempt to generate opposition to price increases. Although people have undoubtedly been affected by rising prices and economic difficulties, these efforts failed to gather significant momentum. Another attempt came when President Dissanayake predicted that opposition politicians would face imprisonment in the month of May as legal cases progressed, though this has not happened. Critics claimed that such remarks suggested an intention to influence judicial outcomes. Yet this criticism also failed to gain traction among the public. The likely reason is that public memory remains fresh. Many people continue to associate previous governments with economic mismanagement, corruption scandals, abuse of power and the eventual economic collapse. In comparison, the present government continues to enjoy a reservoir of public goodwill and credibility. As long as legal action appears to be based on evidence and proper process, the public seems prepared to give the government the benefit of the doubt.
The government’s deliberate and cautious approach to political reform that would reduce its centralised power needs to be seen in this context. The monthly approval by Parliament of the emergency regulations is justified by the government as due to the continuing need to respond to the devastation caused by Cyclone Ditwah. However, when viewed together with the reluctance to hold provincial council elections on the grounds of electoral reform, the failure to repeal the Prevention of Terrorism Act and the postponement of constitutional reform, they all appear to reflect a preference for retaining maximum control at a politically sensitive moment. There is a logic to this approach. Governments facing major legal and political confrontations often seek stability and control. So does every despot. However, there is also a downside.
When political competition is denied to legitimate outlets, it often finds expression in confrontation, obstruction and polarisation. The advantage of prioritising the conduct of provincial council elections at this time is that it could reduce the political pressures that are building up. The main opposition parties are united in calling for these elections to be held. Conducting them would provide an opportunity for opposition political parties to obtain a measure of democratic representation and political authority at the provincial level. This would be especially true in the northern and eastern provinces, in which the ethnic and religious minorities predominate. It cannot be forgotten that the provincial council system was developed as a constructive response to the ethnic conflict. Elections at the provincial level would create opportunities for a new generation of political leaders to emerge through democratic competition rather than patronage. Many of those now facing legal scrutiny belong to an older generation to whose needs the younger may be less deferential.
Two Pillars
Another reform that could command bipartisan support is the repeal of the Prevention of Terrorism Act. The PTA has once again become controversial because it is being used in situations that extend beyond its original purpose. The detention of former intelligence chief Suresh Sallay under the Act, the continued incarceration of some Tamil detainees from the war period, and the arrest of individuals accused of speech related offences have all revived concerns regarding prolonged detention without trial and excessive executive power. The reason the PTA has been difficult to repeal is that it is closely associated with concerns regarding national security and territorial integrity. Introduced in 1979 as a temporary measure to confront the emerging separatist conflict, it survived through decades of war and has remained on the statute books long after the conflict ended.
At the same time, history shows that extraordinary powers are likely to be misused. Laws that permit detention without trial or broad executive discretion are rarely confined to their original purpose. Governments of different political parties have used such powers against opponents and critics. The temptation to do so is inherent in the possession of unchecked authority. The way forward could therefore be a combination of accountability and reform. The government should continue to support independent investigations and prosecutions in major corruption and security related cases. Demonstrating political will in this regard would strengthen public confidence in the rule of law and reinforce the principle that no individual is above the law. The PTA could be replaced with legislation that amends the Criminal Procedure Code and Penal Code in a manner that addresses legitimate security concerns while complying with democratic norms and human rights standards.
There are also international dimensions to consider. The European Union has repeatedly linked governance and human rights reforms, including reform of the PTA, to Sri Lanka’s continuing access to the GSP Plus trade concession. Progress on these issues would strengthen Sri Lanka’s international standing at a time when economic recovery remains a national priority. The government has a rare opportunity. It possesses a strong electoral mandate, public goodwill and a reputation for integrity that previous governments lacked. It can combine the pursuit of justice in long delayed cases with meaningful democratic reforms that reduce political resistance and broaden public support. At this time, accountability and power sharing are the two pillars which Sri Lankans need to be committed to build a just and democratic society for a better future without delay. Failure now would make for a long period of waiting for the next time.
by Jehan Perera
Features
Pitfalls and exclusions in academic recruitment
A public university relies on its teachers in fulfilling its responsibilities to the wider community. While teaching remains the chief responsibility of the academic staff, they also conduct research and play a central role in keeping the university a vibrant space where they and students can freely participate in conversations that concern not just routine classroom education but also society at large. The broader intellectual culture and intellectual integrity of a university thus depend on how its academics perform their functions. Therefore, universities should take the task of recruiting their academics seriously. It is important to ensure that this task is done responsibly, transparently and credibly through a fair, thorough and multi-phased evaluation process.
As both an applicant and a member of selection panels for recruitment, I hold that the recruitment procedures, currently in place in our university system, require radical reforms. Echoing some of the concerns raised by Kaushalya Perera in her Kuppi article on recruitment in March 2026, I focus on the limitations I have observed and experienced, specifically in the recruitment of Lecturer (Probationary) and Senior Lecturer positions. The article also aims to explore how these shortcomings could be addressed.
The Advertisement
Recruitment for Lecturer (Probationary) and Senior Lecturer positions is done through an open-advertisement which also involves an interview with shortlisted candidates. Advertisements are finalised in line with a template issued by the Registrar’s Office. Generally, an initial draft, prepared by the Registrar’s Office, is sent to the relevant academic departments for revisions. The revisions have to be made within the template provided, which allows space for the mention of only specialisation requirements.
It should be noted that not all revisions to the advertisement, suggested by the Department Head, are accepted in the next round. Deans, Vice Chancellors and Registrars, who have very little understanding of the disciplines associated with the position, sometimes reject the changes proposed by the Department. Technocratic in their thinking, they don’t recognise that an academic programme can be taught by persons with specialisation in another overlapping discipline. For instance, a position in English, at a university in Sri Lanka, is very well suited to not just those who have postgraduate qualifications in literary studies but also those who are from the disciplines of Applied Linguistics, Cultural Studies or Translation Studies, as these areas are taught as sub-fields of English studies at most universities in the country. These disciplinary overlaps, even when pointed out by Heads, are often overlooked by our administrators.
In place of this process, dominated by academic administrators and registrars, the advertisement should ideally emerge, from the relevant department, in the form of a comprehensive job description. It should mention the nature of the position advertised, the kind of teaching (and research) expected, how the position relates to other positions in the department, in terms of specialisation and workload, and the ways in which the recruited candidate would contribute to overall institutional development.
There can be no one-size-fits-all model when it comes to recruitment. Individual departments vary in size, strength and specialisation requirements. Departments with sizable academic staff may want to emphasise specialisation during recruitment, whereas smaller departments may prefer generalists who can handle a wide-array of courses. Specifying the rationale for the requirements included in the job description may help potential applicants get an understanding of the position advertised and the selection panel to conduct the evaluation process in a fair manner.
Review of Applications
Once applications are received, we sometimes find promising candidates but with qualifications that don’t carry in their title the name of the discipline or the department in which the position is advertised. Sometimes the disciplines or fields of specialisation that appear in the advertisement and the ones that appear in the qualifications are not identical in nomenclature, even though the research undertaken by the applicant during their graduate studies is strongly relevant to the position advertised. Even when such applications are accompanied by strong and relevant publications, our system does not view them positively. Instead, nomenclatural differences are used to reject promising candidates. Such differences are also used as a pretext when universities want to exclude a candidate for their cultural background, political beliefs or other reasons. Even if academic departments recognise such applications, at the next stage, the administrators of the university try to veto them. We lose inter-disciplinary scholars of high academic standing because of the high-handedness of university administrators.
Selection Panels
Selection panels for academic positions typically comprise the Vice Chancellor, the Dean of the Faculty, the Head of the Department, two academics nominated by the Senate and two members of the University Council. In the case of programmes/disciplines jointly housed under a single department, if the Head comes from a discipline other than the one in which the position is advertised, they may not be able to contribute in an informed manner to the recruitment process. However, some Heads refuse to appoint nominees from the relevant discipline in their place as they view sitting on selection panels as their exclusive privilege.
Sometimes university Senates do not take the appointment of Senate nominees seriously. These appointments are decided in a hurry without serious deliberations at senate meetings packed with numerous agenda items. Sometimes even if the relevant department has suitable academics to serve as Senate nominees, the Senate chooses academics from other departments or disciplines who do not have a nuanced understanding of the requirements of the position advertised and its disciplinary parameters. Sometimes specialists in the relevant discipline may not be available at a university. On such occasions, Senates tend to fill up the positions with academics from other disciplines, instead of inviting external nominees from other universities. At a state university in Sri Lanka, I was interviewed thrice for academic positions by selection panels that comprised not even one specialist from the relevant discipline.
The Marking Scheme
The marking schemes used in recruitment have their own drawbacks. Publications are sometimes evaluated for their quantity rather than quality. The opinion of the subject specialist is not sought or taken seriously when a candidate’s research is evaluated. This is why our universities are saddled with academics who engage in plagiarism or predatory publishing. The evaluation process should be tightened in such a way to bar the entry of those who lack academic integrity.
It is worrying to see that marking schemes and schemes of recruitment penalise applicants who have excelled in their graduate studies and are well-reputed for their recent research and publications just because they did not earn a first-class or second-class upper-division pass at the undergraduate level. Our narrow focus on a candidate’s first degree prevents us from giving due recognition to how that person has gained intellectual depth over the years. Some marking rubrics, which allocate points for eye-contact and posture during the interview, dilute the seriousness associated with the academic position, de-prioritise scholarship and turn the interview process into a stage performance.
Cultural Credibility
In recruitment, many universities look for cultural credibility (a term that I borrow from the work of Sulaxana Hippisley) as an unwritten requirement. Some departments are reluctant to hire applicants who are not their alumni. Some selection panels discriminate against candidates from certain ethnic or religious backgrounds. In some departments, women are rejected because they are likely to go on maternity leave or have more domestic responsibilities than men. Gender and sexual minorities have to mute and censor their identities at interviews because they are likely to face rejection if they openly declare their orientation. We have no policies and procedures in place to ensure recruitment is conducted in an inclusive way that sees diversity as a strength.
The Way-forward
When recruitment fails, the entire intellectual culture of that university takes a hit, and several generations of students are affected. Some of the current problems, related to quality in our higher education system, stem from bad recruitment policies and practices. Instead of trying to address these issues through rigorous and inclusive recruitment practices, we try to seek solutions via band-aids like quality assurance and workshops on curriculum writing and pedagogy for university academics.
In developing alternative recruitment policies and practices, we have to demand that the needs and expectations of individual departments are heard. Our selection panels should include more subject specialists than administrators and council nominees. Most of the evaluation should be completed before the interviews, and interviews should be treated as opportunities to get to know candidates in person and pose clarifying questions rather than as occasions for full-scale evaluation. We have to be open and receptive to new, inter-disciplinary scholarship and cultural, ethnic and gender diversity. If we are unwilling to introspect and bring about these reforms and revise our marking schemes, we will continue to recruit the wrong candidates and thereby fail our students and the wider community.
Mahendran Thiruvarangan is a Senior Lecturer attached to the Department of Linguistics & English at the University of Jaffna.
(Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies.)
by Mahendran Thiruvarangan
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