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Ekagei kaema (polyandry) – a way of life in the Kandyan highlands

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by Jayantha Perera

Hingula is a small bazaar 60 miles from Colombo on the Colombo-Kandy Road. A narrow, tarred road starts from there, and a signboard says, ‘To Aluth Nuwara Devalayala.’ The logo of the Archaeological Department on the signboard indicates the devalaya (temple) is a state-protected archaeological site.

The temple is about two miles from the bazaar. The road winds through a breathtaking vista of green rice terraces cascading from low hills to narrow lowlands. The rice terraces, like thin carpets with precise lengths and widths, create a mesmerising sight. Large Mara (Samanea saman) trees and patches of tall teak trees provide shade to pedestrians. A rubber plantation and tiny homesteads with arecanut palms interspersed with clove gardens, fruit trees, and pepper vines displaying vibrant colours in sunlight. The winding road takes a right turn by a large open hut. It goes over the shoe bridge that spans a dry stream bed before arriving at the Devalgama Junction. There are several kiosks, and one of them is a tea boutique where old men read newspapers and chit-chat without any hurry to leave. My research assistant, the jeep driver, and I entered the kiosk and ordered tea with seen banis (a small round bun with melted sugar).

Our arrival at the village was met with a palpable sense of caution. This initial reaction is significant, reflecting the villagers’ wariness towards outsiders. Those at the kiosk, though initially reluctant to engage in conversation, studied our Mitsubishi Jeep with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. A man, perhaps the boldest among them, asked, “Policye mahathwaruda?” (Are you Police officers?) I reassured them that we were not and explained our plan to study the cooperative aspects of farming, particularly in rice farming and irrigation water management. However, they quickly dispersed, leaving the tea kiosk empty.

We visited the temple and worshipped the Dadimunda Deiyo (God). When we came out of the temple, Kapu Mahaththaya (the lay official of the temple) was waiting for us. He was a charming middle-aged man with a friendly smile. He had received a message from the Government Agent of Kegalle District that a team of researchers from Colombo was coming to Devalgama. He invited us for lunch at his aunt’s house. The house was an old waluwwa (mansion). Old paintings and photographs covered the walls of the large dining room. Two giant elephant tusks mounted on two mahogany blocks stood at the entrance.

I told Kapu Mahattaya we were looking for a hamlet to research the cooperative aspects of farming. He recommended Devith hamlet. I asked him to help us find a place to stay for a few months. He said residents might refuse to keep three young men in their homes. He advised us to remain where caste does not hamper our work.

Kapu Mahattaya informed us he owns a hut in a rice field. His wage workers seasonally stay there. The hut has a cement floor and a thatched roof. Two large windows open to the rice fields, bringing in sunlight and a cooling breeze. The two windows and the only door can be locked from inside. He showed us a shallow well just by the rice fields. There is a small toilet behind the house. He promised to find a woman to cook our meals.

We walked to the rice fields behind the house. The closest mountain formed a horseshoe with a small flat area in the middle for a pathaha (pond). A natural spring from a mountain watered it. Local legends say Dadimunda Deiyo caused a water spring to send water to the pond by striking the ground with his staff. We could see the mist gradually covering the hilltops and felt cold.

Kapu Mahattaya walked with us to meet an old woman. She agreed to cook our meals and told us to come to her hut for lunch and dinner. She wanted us to buy rice, vegetables, curry and chilli powder, salt, cooking oil, and coconuts from a nearby boutique. She told us we should have lunch before noon and dinner by 5.30 pm. We gave her Rs. 100 as an advance, which she happily accepted.

We unloaded our bags and sent the ARTI jeep back to Colombo. Kapu Mahattaya visited us in the evening. I told him we were happy to stay in the hut and thanked him for his generosity. When I asked him how to lock the hut from the outside, he promised to buy a padlock and a hasp from Hingula. He took us to the boutique behind the hut and introduced us to its owner and his wife. They offered us tea and hulang viscothu (air biscuits). We bought five pounds of rice, eggs, a packet of curry powder, salt, coconuts, vegetables, and a bottle of cooking oil from the boutique and delivered them to our cook. She cooked rice and a brinjal curry and prepared pol sambal for dinner.

We had kimbula banis (flat, hard buns) and sweetened plain tea for breakfast at the kadey. We then visited a randomly selected few houses, introduced ourselves, and explained why we stayed in the village. The villagers were cordial and particularly interested in our caste, marital status, and employment. This interest in our personal information is significant as it underscores the importance of social status and personal history in the community. An old man told us that there were two unresolved murder cases in the village. He wondered whether we were CID (police intelligence) officers who wanted to reopen the murder investigations.

Our interaction with villagers improved when Kanthi joined us as a field assistant. She was a Kapu Mahattaya’s relative. She was in her late thirties, divorced, and came from a pelanthiya (high social status group) in a nearby hamlet. She graduated from Peradeniya University with a degree in economics and worked as a research assistant in a development project. While in Kandy, she married a colleague against her parents’ advice. They ostracised her from the family for marrying an outsider. The marriage failed in two years, and she returned to her parents.

Kanthi introduced villagers to us, paying attention to their caste, class, and employment status. First, she introduced us to three feudal pelanthiya families who owned most of the village land. Kapu Mahattaya’s family was one of them. Then she introduced us to several goigama (cultivator caste) middle-class families. Some owned small pieces of land, and others were tenants. Kanthi took us to high-caste and goigama families before visiting achari (blacksmith) and vahumpura (potter) families. They were service castes who played an essential role in the temple’s festivals. Some of them cultivated temple land on lease and performed temple duties.

The villagers considered Kanthi to be a reliable person. They were happy to talk to us when she was with us. At our initial interviews, Kanthi answered the questions before the villagers answered them! She was a walking databank. Villagers checked their facts and numbers with her before answering our questions. They respected her because of her work to educate poor children and her readiness to help them regardless of their caste or class. After her father’s death, she became the de facto chief of her family. She managed rice and other crop cultivation on her ancestral lands.

Kanthi stayed with us for fieldwork from 9 am to 5.30 pm. She never visited us at our hut or invited us home. She preferred to discuss fieldwork arrangements at the tea boutique before the villagers. However, after two weeks, the villagers lost interest in our work and did not linger to listen to our discussions.

Kanthi taught us the structure of the village community and how economic, social, and political alliances overlap. She explained how pelantiyas go up and down in the social status ladder mainly because of debt, litigation, and gambling. I was interested in studying Kandyan marriage alliances such as diga (virilocal) and binna (matrilocal) and inheritance customs. However, she was reluctant to discuss issues with me because she did not want to reveal family tensions over inheritance in the context of her divorce.

One day, Kanthi brought a large cane basket of food. Her family had returned from a wedding and brought lots of food; she got a portion for us. While enjoying the food at the tea kiosk, she introduced us to a young man named Vijay. Vijay lived in Colombo, where he had a motorcycle business. Later, I asked Kanthi about him. She smiled and told me he visited his home only once a month. He was a married man, and his wife lived in the hamlet. Then she said Vijay and his brother, Ratne, shared one wife. It was a polyandrous marital arrangement known as ‘ekgei kanawa’ (eat and live together as one household). The three – Vijay, Ratne, and their wife, Kumari – maintained one household.

Kanthi was an excellent storyteller. One day she delved into the ekgei kaema institution in detail. Kumari was her friend and shared her secrets with her. As I was not a member of the village community, Kanthi did not mind telling me what she knew. Although Kumari was married to the two brothers, her favourite was Ratne, a farmer who lived in the village. Vijay wanted to keep Kumari from his elder brother, Ratne. He yielded to his parents’ pressure and agreed to share Kumari with Ratne in one household. The parents of Vijay and Ratne owned a large tract of ancestral land. They wanted to keep it from fragmenting through inheritance and succession. Their strategy was to get a ‘common’ wife for the two brothers and accept their ‘common’ children as heirs to the ancestral estate.

Vijay wanted to sell his property share to raise money and start a business in Kegalle. But his father opposed the proposal and told him to live with his brother and Kumari or leave the family. Vijay hesitated and then agreed to keep a joint household with his brother and Kumari. Kumari’s parents told her to marry Ratne and later insisted that she accept Vijay as her co-husband. She did not refuse because she knew her parents were keen to improve their social and economic status by having access to the large rice field jointly owned by Vijay and Ratne.

The two brothers informed Kumari in advance of their sleeping plans with her. Vijay and Ratne had no problem in this regard, as Vijay lived outside the village. Ratne and Kumari had lived a happy family life. Vijay’s monthly conjugal access to Kumari for a day or two did not disturb their peace at home. Soon, Vijay became a drunkard. When he returned home for a few days, he went out with his friends to Hingula and returned home after midnight. Ratne respected the ekgei kaema arrangement and always found an excuse to leave home when Vijay came home. Ratne was worried about Kumari, as, on several occasions, Vijay had assaulted her.

Kanthi explained the root cause of the new tension at Kumari’s house. Ratne wanted a child, but Vijay did not. Vijay feared that Ratne might impregnate Kumari as they were usually together. Ratne was willing to suspend his access to his wife for a month or more so that Vijay could impregnate Kumari, but on one condition—the next child had to be his. Kanthi said the proposal was risky and was against tradition. The children of a household that followed ekgei kaema rules were considered ‘common’ children of co-husbands, making them co-heirs to their parent’s property.

Knowing a child’s biological father might encourage the co-father to ill-treat the child. Also, if Vijay or Ratne were infertile, the proposed arrangement would not work. Such tensions would destroy the ekgei kana marriage, affecting the undivided property. Ratne was willing to treat Vijay’s child as his own if Ratne failed to beget an heir. Vijay was resentful of such arrangements and thought Kumari was behind such proposals. Kanthi worried that one day, the two brothers would resort to violence to resolve their relationship with Kumari, who had no voice in the proposals and negotiations.

Kanthi knew several other families that followed the ekgei kana arrangement. Tensions it could generate over children, spouses, and undivided property were usually kept as family secrets and never revealed to outsiders.

Devith hamlet is not an idyllic village community. It always has social tensions arising from caste, class, social status, and social arrangements such as ekgei kaema. People have developed tension management schemes as part of the village social organisation. The critical tension management lever is the rigid caste hierarchy and associated purity or impurity. Another is the belief that the mighty God, Dadimunda, controls the area and keeps an eye on the moral character of the local population. The temple murals depict the God as an elite Kandyan aristocrat. He punishes those who violate norms, customs, and rituals. The belief in fate also plays a crucial role in legitimising the caste hierarchy and managing tensions.

One is born into a low-caste family or lives a comfortable life as a feudal landlord because of past bad or good karma (action). The power of gossip and rumour is more potent than any of the above levers. Kanthi always cautioned me about gossip and rumours. She told me if I had visited her at her home, her neighbours and relatives would have suspected that she had found a lover or a man to marry her. They would have built a ‘reality’ on that assumption as part of the village narrative.



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Empowering Futures: Navigating intersection of innovation in globalised eduscape

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In a recent interview with BBC’s Katty Kay, Sal Khan, the founder of Khan Academy and author of Brave New Words, presents a compelling and optimistic vision for the integration of Artificial Intelligence (AI) into classrooms. His views align closely with the themes of innovation, equity, and lifelong learning that frame current debates in global education.

The global education landscape is undergoing profound transformation, driven by rapid technological innovation, shifting socio-economic demands, and the imperatives of globalisation. As education systems, worldwide, grapple with questions of relevance, equity, and sustainability, the emergence of a fluid and interconnected learning ecosystem—what scholars and policymakers increasingly term the eduscape—demands urgent attention and critical reflection. This eduscape is not merely a digital evolution; it encapsulates the convergence of pedagogy, policy, and technology in a transnational context, marked by both opportunity and inequity.

A tool: Powerful assistant

At the forefront of this transformation is the integration of Artificial Intelligence (AI) into teaching and learning. Khan articulated a compelling vision for AI in education during the interview with Katty Kay. He envisions AI not as a substitute for educators but as a powerful assistant—enhancing personalisation, supporting creativity, and facilitating lifelong learning. His perspective reflects a growing body of scholarship that positions AI as a tool to augment human capabilities and address long-standing structural challenges in education.

However, the promise of innovation cannot be separated from the realities of educational inequity. The digital divide, disparities in access, and uneven capacity for adoption threaten to widen existing gaps. Moreover, the global diffusion of educational technologies raises questions about cultural homogenisation and the erosion of local pedagogical traditions. To navigate these tensions, a nuanced approach is required—one that blends technological advancement with inclusive policy, pedagogical integrity, and cultural responsiveness.

Investigation

I attempt to examine how innovation, equity, and lifelong learning intersect to shape education systems capable of empowering future generations. Drawing on recent developments in AI-enhanced learning, theories of constructivist and competency-based education, and global policy frameworks, such as Global Citizenship Education (GCE), this analysis aims to illuminate the pathways through which education can become more adaptive, inclusive, and transformative. Ultimately, this investigation seeks to articulate a vision for education that is not only future-oriented but also grounded in ethical and humanistic values.

The integration of Artificial Intelligence (AI) into education, as envisioned by Sal Khan, represents a transformative yet complex shift in pedagogy. Khan presents AI as a tool to personalise learning, re-engage students, and augment rather than replace the role of educators. While this perspective aligns with broader scholarly enthusiasm for educational technology, critical examination reveals the nuanced challenges and conditionalities associated with implementing innovation within global educational systems (see Figure 1: ChatGPT-AI generated infographic).

Innovation: Transformative but Conditional

Technological innovations, such as AI tutors, learning analytics, and immersive simulations, have reshaped learning environments by enhancing personalisation and engagement. Tools like Khanmigo (AI-powered tutoring assistant developed by Khan Academy) demonstrate AI’s potential to support differentiated instruction and enable formative assessment in real time. These innovations are congruent with constructivist learning theories, which emphasise the active construction of knowledge through interaction and experience.

However, innovation is not inherently emancipatory. Some argue that without critical pedagogical grounding, digital tools risk reinforcing pre-existing hierarchies and inequalities. For instance, AI systems that lack cultural and linguistic sensitivity may marginalise diverse learner populations. Additionally, algorithmic systems can over-standardise learning and diminish opportunities for creative and critical thinking, if not guided by thoughtful instructional design. Hence, innovation must be deployed with a clear alignment to pedagogical goals and equity principles.

Equity: The Persistent Digital Divide

Equity remains one of the most pressing challenges in the digital eduscape. Although AI-enabled education offers tools to support inclusion, the digital divide persists across and within nations. In many contexts, students lack consistent internet access, digital devices, or the digital literacy required to navigate AI-mediated learning environments. As UNESCO underscores, technological access alone does not guarantee inclusion; educational systems must also invest in teacher training, inclusive curricula, and culturally responsive pedagogies.

Actually, inclusive education is not a technical issue but a structural one, requiring curriculum redesign and institutional commitment to address barriers related to disability, language, gender, and geography. AI can support equity only when these broader systemic factors are simultaneously addressed.

Lifelong Learning: Expanding Educational Horizons

AI-facilitated learning also intersects with the growing emphasis on lifelong learning. The concept of education as a continuous process aligns with global workforce demands and the emergence of micro-credentials, modular online learning, and flexible learning pathways. Also, lifelong learning environments, supported by AI and personalised platforms, offer learners greater autonomy and alignment with real-world competencies.

Nevertheless, these innovations carry risks. Without adequate institutional support, learners may be overwhelmed by fragmented learning opportunities and credential inflation. Moreover, those in marginalised communities may struggle to participate in such systems due to digital exclusion or lack of social capital. Thus, while lifelong learning is vital, it must be equitably accessible and embedded within coherent policy frameworks.

Globalisation: Balancing Global and Local Needs

Globalisation plays a dual role in shaping educational transformation. On one hand, it facilitates cross-border collaboration, knowledge exchange, and technological diffusion. On the other, it can homogenise educational practices and marginalise local cultures. While platforms, like Khan Academy, aim to offer globally accessible learning, they may inadvertently reflect dominant cultural assumptions about knowledge, language, and pedagogy.

To mitigate this, UNESCO promotes Global Citizenship Education (GCE), which encourages students to engage critically with global challenges while valuing local identity and diversity. Integrating GCE into AI-driven systems presents an opportunity to foster civic-mindedness and ethical engagement, but it also requires intentional curricular design and policy support.

Human Agency: Anchoring Ethical AI Use

Despite the capabilities of AI, the role of teachers remains central. As Khan emphasises, educators provide the social-emotional scaffolding, ethical guidance, and cultural context that AI lacks. Further, AI should support teachers in making informed instructional decisions, not replace them.

The impact of AI on learning depends less on the technology itself than on the values, intentions, and pedagogical frameworks that shape its use. Ethical AI integration requires professional development, participatory design processes, and safeguards to prevent misuse or over-reliance. Teachers, students, and communities must be active agents in determining how technology shapes learning.

Synthesis

While AI offers powerful tools to enhance personalisation, access, and creativity, its implementation must be grounded in inclusive, context-sensitive, and ethically informed practices. The global eduscape is marked by asymmetries in infrastructure, capacity, and cultural fit. Therefore, empowering futures requires more than technological adoption—it demands a reimagining of education that is human-centred, culturally responsive, and globally aware.

Conclusion

As the global education landscape evolves, the integration of innovation, equity, and lifelong learning emerges not as optional enhancements but as foundational pillars for sustainable educational transformation. Sal Khan’s vision of AI as a pedagogical scaffold—rather than a replacement for human educators—epitomises the balanced and ethical approach required to navigate the complex terrain of the modern eduscape. His insights underscore the importance of

aligning technological tools with human-centred values, equity-focused frameworks, and culturally responsive pedagogy.

Artificial Intelligence, when applied judiciously, holds immense potential to personalise learning, re-engage students, support teacher decision-making, and foster creativity.

Yet, its transformative capacity depends heavily on the context in which it is embedded. Without adequate attention to digital infrastructure, teacher training, policy integration, and socio-economic disparities, the very technologies designed to democratise education may inadvertently deepen inequalities.

This attempt is to explore the interplay between global innovation trends and local educational realities, highlighting both the possibilities and the perils of rapid digital transformation. It affirms that lifelong learning—flexible, modular, and competency-based—must be central to educational planning in the 21st century, especially in preparing learners to adapt to technological disruption and global change.

To truly empower future generations, education systems must be agile yet grounded, innovative yet inclusive, and global in outlook yet locally relevant. This requires not only investment in technology but also a commitment to inclusive policy design, community engagement, and ethical foresight. Moving forward, sustained cross-national research, policy experimentation, and institutional collaboration will be essential to shaping an eduscape that serves all learners—equitably, creatively, and sustainably.

(The writer, a senior Chartered Accountant and professional banker, is Professor at SLIIT, Malabe. The views and opinions expressed in this article are personal.)

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Government’s success in building trust needs to expand

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President Dissanayake with Turk

The government has been trying to overcome the most serious economic breakdown in the country’s modern history. By negotiating without prevarication with the International Monetary Fund and by allowing the Commission to Investigate Allegations of Bribery or Corruption, the police and the courts to do their work, it has persuaded foreign partners and the general public that it can be trusted. That credibility now gives the government an opportunity that its predecessors failed to obtain. It can and must use the trust it has gained to confront the legacy of war and heal a country that is still divided.

The clearest indication of its credibility is the new relationship with the IMF.  Last week the Executive Board of the IMF completed the fourth review of the Extended Fund Facility and authorised the disbursement of another USD 350 million to Sri Lanka. At the same sitting it granted waivers after the government admitted that it had under reported expenditure arrears during earlier reviews and outlined steps to improve the integrity of its data. Instead of imposing penalties, the IMF was  lenient to acknowledge the corrective action and the deeper commitment to fiscal transparency.

In other cases, as in Ukraine in 2001 and Dominican Republic in 2004, the IMF has frozen assistance when borrowers misstate information. That it refrained on this occasion speaks well about the confidence it places in the government’s determination to reform. Tariff increases, steeper taxes and the withdrawal of blanket subsidies have caused economic hardship to the people, yet the government has persisted. Reserves have stabilised, inflation is low and output is returning to modest growth even as turbulence in global trade poses fresh risks. Debt restructuring with bilateral and commercial creditors is close to completion, and the automatic electricity tariff formula, another unpopular measure, has been brought into play.

People’s Priorities

As a result of inflation  that took place in the past, and the failure of salaries to catch up, real income is still below precrisis levels.  A survey undertaken by the National Peace Council in August 2024 just before the presidential election revealed that the first priority of people in their choice of candidate was economic development. The study conducted by Dr. Mahesh Senanayake and Ms. Crishni Silva of the University of Colombo offers valuable insights into the key drivers of voter behaviour within Sri Lanka’s dynamic political context.  Despite the continuing economic problems, voters seem willing to wait as they continue  to place their trust in the government’s sincerity.

The NPC survey examines how factors such as economic concerns, perceptions of leadership, trust in public institutions, and prevailing social issues influence electoral decisions. The research showed that voters overwhelmingly prioritised candidates who would offer clear strategies to address Sri Lanka’s economic crisis, fight corruption, and ensure good governance. 93% of respondents indicated they would vote based on a candidate’s ability to resolve the economic crisis. 83% prioritised candidates committed to tackling corruption. 86% favoured candidates with strong educational backgrounds, signaling a preference for qualified, competent leaders over political dynasties.

 Trust also depends on tackling corruption. Nothing corrodes confidence faster than impunity. It is in relation to accountability for economic crimes that progress is most visible.  Recently,  a bench of three judges, acting on an indictment filed by the Bribery Commission, sentenced two former ministers to prison terms of twenty and twentyfive years for misappropriating public funds in a sportsequipment procurement scandal. The convictions, the first of their scale against former cabinet members, signal that no office is beyond the reach of the law and that economic crimes will be answered in court.

The Commission to Investigate Allegations of Bribery or Corruption together with the police and judiciary is showing that state institutions can tackle the problems of corruption if the government does not interfere to block them discharging their mandates.  The same principles should hold where it concerns non-economic  crimes as well. The recent arrest of a former Karuna group cadre for the murder of the Vice Chancellor of Eastern University nearly twenty years ago, shows this is possible. The success in dealing with economic crimes and making those guilty of those crimes accountable to the law and the courts shows the way to dealing with the festering problem of human rights violations that took place during the three decades of war.

International Involvement

The failure of successive governments to deal satisfactorily with the issue of war crimes has led to demands for international involvement in ensuring accountability for war crimes and serious human rights violations. This has been resisted by successive governments on the grounds that direct international involvement in the form of being investigators, prosecutors and judges will be an unacceptable erosion of national sovereignty which will give power to those from the international community who have no longer term stake in the country in the same way Sri Lankan citizens have. In the past this was also an excuse for inaction.

UN Human Rights High Commissioner Volker Turk dealt diplomatically with this issue. His offer of international assistance was to offer support to domestic mechanisms. He said, “Sri Lanka has struggled to move forward with domestic accountability mechanisms that are credible and have the trust and confidence of victims. This is why Sri Lankans have looked outside for justice, through assistance at the international level. Ultimately it is the State’s responsibility and it is important that this process is nationally owned – and it can be complemented and supported by international means.”

However, the reluctance to get into the area of war crimes persists due to the possibility of political backlash.  The visit of the High Commissioner to the Chemmani mass grave site was made possible because the Magistrate’s Court in Jaffna stood firm and acceded to the demand made by human rights lawyer K. S. Ratnavale that the High Commissioner should be given access to the Chemmani site. The court overruled objections by the government representatives who said that the High Commissioner should be given access only to the entrance to the Chemmani site and not to the mass grave itself.  A process that is independent and open to scrutiny would strengthen the government’s standing both at home and abroad.

 Winning Trust

 Allowing independent observers to monitor evidence preservation, witness protection and laboratory analysis could offer the assurance victims now demand. The government already has a model for such openness.  It has accepted extensive external oversight of its fiscal policy. IMF staff examine Treasury books each quarter, verify information and insist on course corrections when targets are missed.  The general population now believes this supervision helps rather than weakens the country. It is regarded as a seal of confidence that attracts investment and assures taxpayers that rules apply to all.

Sri Lanka will not lay the ghosts of its war to rest until the truth about the missing persons is ascertained.  Although not much reported in  the media in the English and Sinhala languages, in the north and east, the issue of the Chemmani mass grave has revived painful memories and made this the topic of everyday discussion. In view of justifiable concerns and past failures to protect evidence, an international role in safeguarding evidence can be considered. In addition, international experts can be brought in to ensure that the evidence is gathered and analysed in a scientific way drawing on international experience.

Just as the government has won the trust of the IMF and the general public regarding its commitment to improving their economic lives, it can win the trust of the people of the north and east who lost their loved ones in the war. The government can design an accountability process that is credible, nationally owned and internationally respected. This can pave the way for national reconciliation of which Sri Lanka can be an example to the world that is increasingly conflictual and divided.

by Jehan Perera

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Oh Palestine, Palestine: Unchaining education

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Struggle for food in Gaza

Why do the books deceive?
Why is every letter of the alphabet chained,
every human mouth bridled

From Concerto Al-Quds by Adonis (On Palestine): Trans: Khaled Mattawa

Why is every letter of the alphabet chained, indeed, as this poet asks. If I may attempt an answer to this question, I will want to raise it as an epistemological and pedagogic concern. And I do have to raise it as a question of Palestine as well, for our lives caught in the systems of knowledge production, and shaped by their parameters, have to reckon with one of the greatest political infamies of our shared global history: Palestine.

Many of us watch with horror the war on Gaza. We are anxious about the ongoing conflict, and the uptick on the war, with USA bombing Iran and the counter offensives. The war in Ukraine had already raised concerns about an impending World War III. Continuous wars, one leading to the other, had always been a part of our lives in recent times. We had always put it down to geopolitics and the West’s need to dominate and shape the world order in the way it wants to. Palestine had always been central to this. But this understanding, important as it is, has to be combined with a theoretical and semiotic understanding of what Palestine stands for, in very material terms; its peoples, the multiple dispossessions that the land has undergone, the horror of war and mayhem, the resistance of the Intifadas – in other words, in historical and political terms. We need to do this as our own act of solidarity and strategy, because our “books deceive.”

Colonialism, Neocolonialism and Neoliberalism

Let me begin, genealogically, with neoliberalism, the current political and economic moment. It is no overstatement to say that today neoliberalism as an economic and cultural truth of modernity (progress) has become naturalised, an uncontested premise of our economic and political system, an economic and political world order that combines colonialism with extreme economic appropriation, misappropriation. Neoliberalism is a neocolonial moment, in which the world’s working population is turned into an exploited (reserve) army of labour for global capital. We see colonial capital reinvented as global capital and financial markets, crisscrossing the world and masquerading as the new world order, the messianic deliverer. Yet, Palestine tells us, no!

One of the enduring colonial characteristics of the neoliberal moment is the way land in the third world, and in colonised regions across the globe, has been a chief marker of the process of dispossessing people of their livelihoods in their places of living. Global capital recolonises land through marketising it as a commodity. Colonialism has always been about land, the control of land, the control of the people of the land, the exploitation of land, and the exploitation of the labour of its people.

In the neocolonial, neoliberal world we live in, this colonial legacy repeats itself not just as farce, but as tragi-comedy. And then we have the tragedy of Palestine. Neoliberalism can be understood as the deep vulgarisation of the tragedy of colonialism. As neocolonial subjects, we gleefully adapt, change and create policies on education that have become a blanket endorsement of the global north’s, and the global order’s, politics and policies. Committees, Commissions and Collaborations converge to market these policies. The books continue to deceive.

Decolonising Knowledge: The Other

Decolonising knowledge has gained some traction in the postcolonial world, particularly in the areas of knowledge production and in education. It does put up a valiant challenge to colonial premises of advancements. Yet, much of this interesting trend, a politically demanding one, has become entangled for the most part, in creating east/west or north/south binaries. More often than not decolonisation merely re-narrates colonial paradigms in nationalist idioms, an act that Frantz Fanon, the arch anti-colonialist theorist warned us against in Black Skin White Masks and Wretched of the Earth. While we look on with horror at what is unfolding in Palestine, a century after the brazenly racist, colonialist Balfour Declaration that inaugurated the settlement of European Jews in Palestine, Palestine might well be a starting point for us to engage in a conversation on decolonisation. In such a re-examination of what Palestine was and is today, we may have to side step geopolitics as the point of entry and instead recentre colonial pursuits and persuasions as our primary focus.

The area around West Asia (called the Middle East from the European perspective) has always been, materially and metaphorically speaking, the pathway to the land masses around Russia, China and the Indian subcontinent in Asia. Politically and culturally, it was the crucible in which a European identity was forged, forming its crucial Other. The crusades are an early indication of it. In early modernity, the lines harden. Can one forget the expulsion of Jews and Muslims from Spain in 1492, the same year, Columbus lands in Bahamas, to inaugurate that side of the genocide project? When Emilia in the play Othello, tells Desdemona, “I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his [Lodovico] nether lip,” we can immediately see the central role Palestine plays in the nascent colonial imaginary of Shakespeare’s Europe. Shakespeare’s classic play on race immediately centres this othering of Othello as a question of the European Christian versus all others, including other Christians. The play is not just about race, but is about race and sexuality, one of those constitutive anxieties of the European psyche that helped shape colonial appropriations in the name of a putative moral superiority. Sometimes we seem to be still stuck in early modernity. Tracing the place of Palestine in the colonial imagery is important for any epistemological project of decolonisation.

Epistemologically and pedagogically, the question of Palestine should lead us to question our own nationalisms and nation state prerogatives. The Naqba in Palestine was in 1948, the same year, the people of Malaiyaham in Sri Lanka were disenfranchised, just a year after the conflagration that the independence of India and Pakistan was. These were not fortuitous. We have story after story to tell of this series of dispossessions. As Mahmood Mamdani insists, in Neither Settler nor Native, writing on Palestine, one needs to think beyond the nation and nationalism. Beyond the specificities of the conflict and war in Palestine, solidarity for Palestine may want to begin with this exploration of our shared colonial legacy, leading us into far reaching queries about the sociopolitical order of global capital in the world today. Decolonisation lies at the heart of an active democratisation process of the polity, both nations, and nation states, challenging the global world order at the same time. In any project that examines our knowledge systems, and in any putative attempt to decolonise education, we may need to begin with that.

As Adonis, the poet, writer and theorist, has enjoined us, every letter of the alphabet needs to speak freely, openly and honestly. Palestine, in 2025, has to show us the way and the friends of Palestine have to set the tone for this challenge. And then, just then, we may be able to turn around and look back at what happened in 1996, in Chemmani, and look at the children buried in the shallow graves of mass murder, without flinching, all while accepting responsibility.

In Jerusalem, and I mean within the ancient walls,
I walk from one epoch to another without a memory
to guide me. The prophets over there are sharing
the history of the holy … ascending to heaven
and returning less discouraged and melancholy, because love
and peace are holy and are coming to town.

From, “In Jerusalem” by Mahmoud Darwish

(Sivamohan Sumathy is attached to the Department of English at the University of Peradeniya)

Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies

by Sivamohan Sumathy

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