Features
Decolonising education – a few critical thoughts
It’s with shock and sadness that we learnt of the passing away of our dear friend and colleague, Harshana Rambukwella on 21 April, 2025, in Abu Dhabi. Harshana was a founder member of the Kuppi Collective, when some of us from across the university system and its allies came together to form a voice of inquiry and resistance, at a time when it all seemed hopeless. An enthusiastic and committed actor, and thoughtful academic, his contribution to Kuppi and to the academic activist community has been invaluable. Here, we pay tribute to our comrade by reproducing a Kuppi Talk column of his, published on 23 November, 2021, on decoloniality, a theme he recently returned to in one of his co-written publications on language studies.
For many postcolonial societies education has historically been one of the primary sites of decolonisation. This is not accidental, since education was a key instrument of colonisation – particularly British colonisation. However, as I argue below, while we pursue decolonisation in its broadest sense as priority in reimagining education we must also be critically cautious of how the idea of decolonisation can easily tip over into parochial nativism that is intellectually debilitating rather than liberating.
In the colonial context, policymakers, like Thomas Babington Macaulay, who was part of the colonial government in 19th century India, held strong views about using education to ‘modernise’ what they saw as backward colonial societies. Macaulay held particularly strong views about the relative value of providing education in English as opposed to vernacular languages and infamously claimed that a single shelf of a good European library held more knowledge and value than all the learning in local languages, like Sanskrit. Similar views about the value of English medium education and the necessity to use education as a tool for social and cultural modernisation were influential in Sri Lanka as well. Sri Lankan historians, like G.C. Mendis, saw the policy changes implemented by the Colebrooke-Cameron reforms of 1831, which also included proposals about anglicising the medium of instruction, as vital to Sri Lanka’s future and modernisation – though, in practice, English-medium instruction in colonial Ceylon was limited to a few elite schools. But the fact that G.C. Mendis, writing in the 1950s, well after independence, held views like this, suggests the deep and pervasive influence of colonial education in Sri Lankan society.
The pejorative phrase ‘Macaulay’s children’ that derives from the colonial education history has some validity because colonial policies did succeed in creating a class of so-called “brown sahibs”. Therefore, across the formerly colonial world, as countries became independent, a key priority was what Ngugi wa’ Thiongo, the Kenyan writer, termed ‘decolonising the mind’. Reimagining education was a major part of this decolonisation process. Though we inhabit a very different historical moment today, I would argue that decolonisation remains a key priority for different reasons. While formal colonialism ended more than half a century ago, global inequalities in knowledge production have led educationists to see decolonisation as a continuing priority. In many academic disciplines the content, curriculum, assessment systems and knowledge agendas tend to be set by ‘centres of knowledge production’ – often, though not always, corresponding to a long-since-disappeared colonial map of the world where the division between the global north and south continues to replicate old colonial hierarchies.
However, my focus in this short reflective piece is somewhat different. While I recognise that decolonisation remains an important policy priority in education, I would also like to sound a note of caution about how a singular fixation on decolonisation can feed into parochial and nativist nationalist ideas that are detrimental to postcolonial societies like Sri Lanka. At least since the 1950s Sri Lanka has had a discourse about decolonising education which has manifested itself in different ways. One powerful political and policy-related expression of this was the Official Languages Act of 1956 – or more commonly known as the ‘Sinhala Only Act’. While there is little argument that the vernacular languages needed to be elevated and given official status to give meaning to political independence and that English needed to be displaced from its privileged position, there were at least two negative consequences of this policy which could have been potentially avoided. At one level due to political expediency Tamil was not granted official status – though the discussion on changing the official language since the 1940s included both Sinhala and Tamil. This in turn significantly impacted ethno-nationalist politics in Sri Lanka for well over half-a-century.
At another level, though official status was granted to Sinhala, English continued to function as a language of privilege, both institutionally and socially – a situation that has become sharply apparent today where English remains a coveted form of social and cultural capital. Parallel to such policy-level changes in education, there has also been an intellectual critique of education, particularly from Sinhala nationalist thinkers. For instance, in the writing of a number of Sinhala intellectuals, such as Gunadasa Amarasekara, there has been a sustained critique of the Sri Lankan education system – particularly university education. They have characterised the university as a space that creates a self-alienated individual – a kind of cultural misfit who is socialised into ‘western’ ways of thinking and is, therefore, unable to meaningfully relate to their own local reality. This is not significantly different to the kind of critique that Ngugi makes in “Decolonising the Mind”. This strain of thinking has had a significant impact in Sinhala intellectual discourse and later, in the 1970s and 80s, found expression in the form of jathika chinatanaya – or what can be loosely translated as ‘national thought’ or ‘national thinking’. Other scholars, such as Nalin de Silva, have also extended these arguments into the realm of science – arguing, for instance, that the ‘scientific method’ is a fallacy and that we need to seek out ‘local’ systems of knowledge.
I am conceptually sympathetic to such a decolonial approach and conceptual orientation. Global knowledge hierarchies systematically exclude certain kinds of knowledge. We also have to recognise that ‘knowledge’ is not the preserve of one culture or society, but unfortunately ‘knowledges’ from our societies are often disregarded or marginalised. However, any such decolonial critique has to be also critically conscious that whether it is the English language, science or democracy – so-called ‘western’ ideas or ‘western’ legacies – have long and complicated histories in our societies. We need these ideas and ‘tools’ for our day-to-day struggles for social justice. Therefore, when we speak of decolonising our education systems we must not forget that certain normative ideas need to be retained. We can critically engage with them and negotiate their meanings and how we implement them in our societies so that they are sensitive to our local needs and realities but we should not pursue a romantic vision that there is some kind of ‘pure’ pre-colonial knowledge that will magically resolve the problems of our societies. For instance, both in Sri Lanka and India, and Asia, in general, there have been views that democracy is not suited to our societies and that a more centralised form of governance is necessary, given the nature of our societies. We are now living through the damaging consequences of such thinking, both in Sri Lanka and neighboring India, which has ended shoring up popularly sanctioned authoritarianism.
We have also witnessed, along with the onset of the Coronavirus pandemic, an upsurge in various kinds of indigenist thinking – ranging from miracle COVID cures to romantic notions about a ‘pure’ life in pre-colonial Sri Lanka. Frantz Fanon, a key thinker and activist in decolonisation, warned about this fascination with a romanticised past in his classic text Wretched of the Earth. He warned that many nationalist thinkers will turn to such a romanticised past and in doing so will be unable to see the complexities of their contemporary existence. I think in Sri Lanka as we think of decolonising our education – whether it is the content of the curriculum or how our formal education systems are structured – we need to remember that the effects of colonisation or the deep-seated ideas and practices that we inherited from colonialism cannot be simply wished away. We have to learn how to critically negotiate with our colonial and ‘western’ legacies and live with them rather than imagine we can choose to simply step outside them. Decolonisation is not a ‘metaphor’ – it is a hard, sustained and committed struggle with our contemporary existence and trying to retreat into some kind of idealistic past will be self-defeating.
Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies.
By Harshana Rambukwella
Features
The Venezuela Model:The new ugly and dangerous world order
The US armed forces invading Venezuela, removing its President Nicolás Maduro from power and abducting him and his wife Cilia Flores on 3 January 2026, flying them to New York and producing Maduro in a New York kangaroo court is now stale news, but a fact. What is a far more potent fact is the pan-global impotent response to this aggression except in Latin America, China, Russia and a few others.
Colombian President Gustavo Petro described the attack as an “assault on the sovereignty” of Latin America, thereby portraying the aggression as an assault on the whole of Latin America. Brazilian President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva referred to the attack as crossing “an unacceptable line” that set an “extremely dangerous precedent.” Again, one can see his concern goes beyond Venezuela. For Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum the attack was in “clear violation” of the UN Charter, which again is a fact. But when it comes to powerful countries, the UN Charter has been increasingly rendered irrelevant over decades, and by extension, the UN itself. For the French Foreign Minister, the operation went against the “principle of non-use of force that underpins international law” and that lasting political solutions cannot be “imposed by the outside.” UN Secretary General António Guterres said he was “deeply alarmed” about the “dangerous precedent” the United States has set where rules of international law were not being respected. Russia, notwithstanding its bloody and costly entanglement in Ukraine, and China have also issued strong statements.
Comparatively however, many other countries, many of whom are long term US allies who have been vocal against the Russian aggression in Ukraine have been far more sedate in their reaction. Compared to his Foreign Minister, French President Emmanuel Macron said the Venezuelan people could “only rejoice” at the ousting of Maduro while the German Chancellor Friedrich Merz believed Maduro had “led his country into ruin” and that the U.S. intervention required “careful consideration.” The British and EU statements have been equally lukewarm. India’s and Sri Lanka’s statements do not even mention the US while Sri Lanka’s main coalition partner the JVP has issued a strongly worded statement.
Taken together, what is lacking in most of these views, barring a negligible few, especially from the so-called powerful countries, is the moral indignation or outrage on a broad scale that used to be the case in similar circumstances earlier. It appears that a new ugly and dangerous world order has finally arrived, footprints of which have been visible for some time.
It is not that the US has not invaded sovereign countries and affected regime change or facilitated such change for political or economic reasons earlier. This has been attempted in Cuba without success since the 1950s but with success in Chile in 1973 under the auspices of Augusto Pinochet that toppled the legitimate government of president Salvador Allende and established a long-lasting dictatorship friendly towards the US; the invasion of Panama and the ouster and capture of President Manuel Noriega in 1989 and the 2003 invasion of Iraq both of which were conducted under the presidency of George Bush.
These are merely a handful of cross border criminal activities against other countries focused on regime change that the US has been involved in since its establishment which also includes the ouster of President of Guyana Cheddi Jagan in 1964, the US invasion of the Dominican Republic in 1965 stop the return of President Juan Bosch to prevent a ‘communist resurgence’; the 1983 US invasion of Grenada after the overthrow and killing of Prime Minister Maurice Bishop purportedly to ensure that the island would not become a ‘Soviet-Cuban’ colony. A more recent adventure was the 2004 removal and kidnapping of the Haitian President Jean-Bertrand Aristide, which also had French support.
There is however a difference between all the earlier examples of US aggression and the Venezuelan operation. The earlier operations where the real reasons may have varied from political considerations based on ideological divergence to crude economics, were all couched in the rhetoric of democracy. That is, they were undertaken in the guise of ushering democratic changes in those countries, the region or the world irrespective of the long-term death and destruction which followed in some locations. But in Venezuela under President Donald Trump, it is all about controlling natural resources in that country to satisfy US commercial interests.
The US President is already on record for saying the US will “run” Venezuela until a “safe transition” is concluded and US oil companies will “go in, spend billions of dollars, fix the badly broken infrastructure, the oil infrastructure, and start making money” – ostensibly for the US and those in Venezuela who will tag the US line. Trump is also on record saying that the main aim of the operation was to regain U.S. oil rights, which according to him were “stolen” when Venezuela nationalized the industry. The nationalization was obviously to ensure that the funds from the industry remained in the country even though in later times this did lead to massive internal corruption.
Let’s be realistic. Whatever the noise of the new rhetoric is, this is not about ‘developing’ Venezuela for the benefit of its people based on some unknown streak of altruism but crudely controlling and exploiting its natural assets as was the case with Iraq. As crude as it is, one must appreciate Trump’s unintelligent honesty stemming from his own unmitigated megalomania. Whatever US government officials may say, the bottom line is the entire operation was planned and carried out purely for commercial and monetary gain while the pretext was Maduro being ‘a narco-terrorist.’ There is no question that Maduro was a dictator who was ruining his own country. But there is also no question that it is not the business of the US or any other country to decide what his or Venezuela’s fate is. That remains with the Venezuelan people.
What is dangerous is, the same ‘narco-terrorist’ rhetoric can also be applied to other Latin American countries such as Columbia, Brazil and Mexico which also produce some of the narcotics that come into the US consumer markets. The response should be not to invade these countries to stem the flow, but to deal with the market itself, which is the US. In real terms what Trump has achieved with his invasion of Venezuela for purely commercial gain and greed, followed by the abject silence or lukewarm reaction from most of the world, is to create a dangerous and ugly new normal for military actions across international borders. The veneer of democracy has also been dispensed with.
The danger lies in the fact that this new doctrine or model Trump has devised can similarly be applied to any country whose resources or land a powerful megalomaniac leader covets as long as he has unlimited access to military assets of his country, backed by the dubius remnants of the political and social safety networks, commonsense and ethics that have been conveniently dismantled. This is a description of the present-day United States too. This danger is boosted when the world remains silent. After the success of the Venezuela operation, Trump has already upended his continuing threats to annex Greenland because “we need Greenland from the standpoint of national security.” Greenland too is not about security, but commerce given its vast natural resources.
Hours after Venezuela, Trump threatened the Colombian President Gustavo Petro to “watch his ass.” In the present circumstances, Canadians also would not have forgotten Trump’s threat earlier in 2025 to annex Canada. But what the US President and his current bandwagon replete with arrogance and depleted intelligence would not understand is, beyond the short-term success of the Venezuela operation and its euphoria, the dangerous new normal they have ushered in would also create counter threats towards the US, the region and the world in a scale far greater than what exists today. The world will also become a far less safe place for ordinary American citizens.
More crucially, it will also complicate global relations. It would no longer be possible for the mute world leaders to condemn Russian action in Ukraine or if China were to invade Taiwan. The model has been created by Trump, and these leaders have endorsed it. My reading is that their silence is not merely political timidity, but strategic to their own national and self-interest, to see if the Trump model could be adopted in other situations in future if the fallout can be managed.
The model for the ugly new normal has been created and tested by Trump. Its deciding factors are greed and dismantled ethics. It is now up to other adventurers to fine tune it. We would be mere spectators and unwitting casualties.
Features
Beyond the beauty: Hidden risks at waterfalls
Sri Lanka is blessed with a large number of scenic waterfalls, mainly concentrated in the central highlands. These natural features substantially enhance the country’s attractiveness to tourists. Further, these famous waterfalls equally attract thousands of local visitors throughout the year.
While waterfalls offer aesthetic appeal, a serene environment, and recreational opportunities, they also pose a range of significant hazards. Unfortunately, the visitors are often unable to identify these different types of risks, as site-specific safety information and proper warning signs are largely absent. In most locations, only general warnings are displayed, often limited to the number of past fatalities. This can lead visitors to assume that bathing is the sole hazard, which is not the case. Therefore, understanding the full range of waterfall-related risks and implementing appropriate safety measures is essential for preventing loss of life. This article highlights site-specific hazards to raise public awareness and prevent people from putting their lives at risk due to these hidden dangers.
Flash floods and resultant water surges
Flash floods are a significant hazard in hill-country waterfalls. According to the country’s topography, most of the streams originate from the catchments in the hilly areas upstream of the waterfalls. When these catchments receive intense rainfalls, the subsequent runoff will flow down as flash floods. This will lead to an unexpected rise in the flow of the waterfall, increasing the risk of drowning and even sweeping away people. Therefore, bathing at such locations is extremely dangerous, and those who are even at the river banks have to be vigilant and should stay away from the stream as much as possible. The Bopath Ella, Ravana Ella, and a few waterfalls located in the Belihul Oya area, closer to the A99 road, are classic examples of this scenario.
Water currents
The behaviour of water in the natural pool associated with the waterfall is complex and unpredictable. Although the water surface may appear calm, strong subsurface currents and hydraulic forces exist that even a skilled swimmer cannot overcome. Hence, a person who immerses confidently may get trapped inside and disappear. Water from a high fall accelerates rapidly, forming hydraulic jumps and vortices that can trap swimmers or cause panic. Hence, bathing in these natural pools should be totally avoided unless there is clear evidence that they are safe.
Slipping risks
Slipping is a common hazard around waterfalls. Sudden loss of footing can lead to serious injuries or fatal falls into deep pools or rock surfaces. The area around many waterfalls consists of steep, slippery rocks due to moisture and the growth of algae. Sometimes, people are overconfident and try to climb these rocks for the thrill of it and to get a better view of the area. Further, due to the presence of submerged rocks, water depths vary in the natural pool area, and there is a chance of sliding down along slippery rocks into deep water. Waterfalls such as Diyaluma, Bambarakanda, and Ravana Falls are likely locations for such hazards, and caution around these sites is a must.
Rockfalls
Rockfalls are a significant hazard around waterfalls in steep terrains. Falling rocks can cause serious injuries or fatalities, and smaller stones may also be carried by fast-flowing water. People bathing directly beneath waterfalls, especially smaller ones, are therefore exposed to a high risk of injury. Accordingly, regardless of the height of the waterfall, bathing under the falling water should be avoided.
Hypothermia and cold shock
Hypothermia is a drop in body temperature below 35°C due to cold exposure. This leads to mental confusion, slowed heartbeat, muscle stiffening, and even cardiac arrest may follow. Waterfalls in Nuwara Eliya district often have very low water temperatures. Hence, immersing oneself in these waters is dangerous, particularly for an extended period.
Human negligence
Additional hazards also arise from visitors’ own negligence. Overcrowding at popular waterfalls significantly increases the risk of accidents, including slips and falls from cliffs. Sometimes, visitors like to take adventurous photographs in dangerous positions. Reckless behavior, such as climbing over barriers, ignoring warning signs, or swimming in prohibited zones, amplifies the risk.
Mitigation and safety
measures
Mitigation of waterfall-related hazards requires a combination of public awareness, engineering solutions, and policy enforcement. Clear warning signs that indicate the specific hazards associated with the water fall, rather than general hazard warnings, must be fixed. Educating visitors verbally and distributing bills that include necessary guidelines at ticket counters, where applicable, will be worth considering. Furthermore, certain restrictions should vary depending on the circumstances, especially seasonal variation of water flow, existing weather, etc.
Physical barriers should be installed to prevent access to dangerous areas by fencing. A viewing platform can protect people from many hazards discussed above. For bathing purposes, safer zones can be demarcated with access facilities.
Installing an early warning system for heavily crowded waterfalls like Bopath Ella, which is prone to flash floods, is worth implementing. Through a proper mechanism, a warning system can alert visitors when the upstream area receives rainfall that may lead to flash floods in the stream.
At present, there are hardly any officials to monitor activities around waterfalls. The local authorities that issue tickets and collect revenue have to deploy field officers to these waterfalls sites for monitoring the activities of visitors. This will help reduce not only accidents but also activities that cause environmental pollution and damage. We must ensure that these natural treasures remain a source of wonder rather than danger.
(The writer is a chartered Civil Engineer specialising in water resources engineering)
By Eng. Thushara Dissanayake ✍️
Features
From sacred symbol to silent victim: Sri Lanka’s elephants in crisis
The year 2025 began with grim news. On 1st January, a baby elephant was struck and killed by a train in Habarana, marking the start of a tragic series of elephant–train collisions that continued throughout the year. In addition to these incidents, the nation mourned the deaths of well-known elephants such as Bathiya and Kandalame Hedakaraya, among many others. As the year drew on, further distressing reports emerged, including the case of an injured elephant that was burnt with fire, an act of extreme cruelty that ultimately led to its death. By the end of the year, Sri Lanka recorded the highest number of elephant deaths in Asia.
This sorrowful reality stands in stark contrast to Sri Lanka’s ancient spiritual heritage. Around 250 BCE, at Mihintale, Arahant Mahinda delivered the Cūḷahatthipadopama Sutta (The Shorter Discourse on the Simile of the Elephant’s Footprint) to King Devanampiyatissa, marking the official introduction of Buddhism to the island. The elephant, a symbol deeply woven into this historic moment, was once associated with wisdom, restraint, and reverence.
Yet the recent association between Mihintale and elephants has been anything but noble. At Mihintale an elephant known as Ambabo, already suffering from a serious injury to his front limb due to human–elephant conflict (HEC), endured further cruelty when certain local individuals attempted to chase him away using flaming torches, burning him with fire. Despite the efforts of wildlife veterinary surgeons, Ambabo eventually succumbed to his injuries. The post-mortem report confirmed severe liver and kidney impairment, along with extensive trauma caused by the burns.
Was prevention possible?
The question that now arises is whether this tragedy could have been prevented.
To answer this, we must examine what went wrong.
When Ambabo first sustained an injury to his forelimb, he did receive veterinary treatment. However, after this initial care, no close or continuous monitoring was carried out. This lack of follow-up is extremely dangerous, especially when an injured elephant remains near human settlements. In such situations, some individuals may attempt to chase, harass, or further harm the animal, without regard for its condition.
A similar sequence of events occurred in the case of Bathiya. He was initially wounded by a trap gun—devices generally intended for poaching bush meat rather than targeting elephants. Following veterinary treatment, his condition showed signs of improvement. Tragically, while he was still recovering, he was shot a second time behind the ear. This second wound likely damaged vital nerves, including the vestibular nerve, which plays a critical role in balance, coordination of movement, gaze stabilisation, spatial orientation, navigation, and trunk control. In effect, the second shooting proved far more devastating than the first.
After Bathiya received his initial treatment, he was left without proper protection due to the absence of assigned wildlife rangers. This critical gap in supervision created the opportunity for the second attack. Only during the final stages of his suffering were the 15th Sri Lanka Artillery Regiment, the 9th Battalion of the Sri Lanka National Guard, and the local police deployed—an intervention that should have taken place much earlier.
Likewise, had Ambabo been properly monitored and protected after his injury, it is highly likely that his condition would not have deteriorated to such a tragic extent.
It should also be mentioned that when an injured animal like an elephant is injured, the animal will undergo a condition that is known as ‘capture myopathy’. It is a severe and often fatal condition that affects wild animals, particularly large mammals such as elephants, deer, antelope, and other ungulates. It is a stress-induced disease that occurs when an animal experiences extreme physical exertion, fear, or prolonged struggle during capture, restraint, transport, or pursuit by humans. The condition develops when intense stress causes a surge of stress hormones, leading to rapid muscle breakdown. This process releases large amounts of muscle proteins and toxins into the bloodstream, overwhelming vital organs such as the kidneys, heart, and liver. As a result, the animal may suffer from muscle degeneration, dehydration, metabolic acidosis, and organ failure. Clinical signs of capture myopathy include muscle stiffness, weakness, trembling, incoordination, abnormal posture, collapse, difficulty breathing, dark-coloured urine, and, in severe cases, sudden death. In elephants, the condition can also cause impaired trunk control, loss of balance, and an inability to stand for prolonged periods. Capture myopathy can appear within hours of a stressful event or may develop gradually over several days. So, if the sick animal is harassed like it happened to Ambabo, it does only make things worse. Unfortunately, once advanced symptoms appear, treatment is extremely difficult and survival rates are low, making prevention the most effective strategy.
What needs to be done?
Ambabo’s harassment was not an isolated incident; at times injured elephants have been subjected to similar treatment by local communities. When an injured elephant remains close to human settlements, it is essential that wildlife officers conduct regular and continuous monitoring. In fact, it should be made mandatory to closely observe elephants in critical condition for a period even after treatment has been administered—particularly when they remain in proximity to villages. This approach is comparable to admitting a critically ill patient to a hospital until recovery is assured.
At present, such sustained monitoring is difficult due to the severe shortage of staff in the Department of Wildlife Conservation. Addressing this requires urgent recruitment and capacity-building initiatives, although these solutions cannot be realised overnight. In the interim, it is vital to enlist the support of the country’s security forces. Their involvement is not merely supportive—it is essential for protecting both wildlife and people.
To mitigate HEC, a Presidential Committee comprising wildlife specialists developed a National Action Plan in 2020. The strategies outlined in this plan were selected for their proven effectiveness, adaptability across different regions and timeframes, and cost-efficiency. The process was inclusive, incorporating extensive consultations with the public and relevant authorities. If this Action Plan is fully implemented, it holds strong potential to significantly reduce HEC and prevent tragedies like the suffering endured by Ambabo. In return it will also benefit villagers living in those areas.
In conclusion, I would like to share the wise words of Arahant Mahinda to the king, which, by the way, apply to every human being:
O’ great king, the beasts that roam the forest and birds that fly the skies have the same right to this land as you. The land belongs to the people and to all other living things, and you are not its owner but only its guardian.
by Tharindu Muthukumarana ✍️
tharinduele@gmail.com
(Author of the award-winning book “The Life of Last Proboscideans: Elephants”)
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