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EMANCIPATION THROUGH EDUCATION

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Mulkirigala Temple: wall painting depicting a troupe of women musicians, including female drummer

CHAPTER III

I remember my first day in school when I was five years old… There were about 30 students. Our classroom was a long, single room with a low wall from where we could see the playground, and the paddy fields further away.

(NU, interview with Carol Aloysius, 2000)

The Colonial School System

In Sri Lanka there had been a virtual revolution in education in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, reflected in the rise of literacy and educational levels. Primary schools expanded in urban and rural areas, and literacy rates increased rapidly. In leading towns, wellstaffed and equipped high schools in the English medium (some with boarding facilities), drew in boys and girls from all parts of the island. Parents from rural areas or small towns would try to somehow raise the necessary funds to send their children to schools in provincial capitals (and if possible, to Colombo) for their secondary studies, in order to broaden their horizons and prospects. While those living in villages were often caste-conscious, the schools in the towns had a universalism, which discouraged parochial feeling. Students sent to urban centres for their studies became more aware

of social and political issues affecting Sri Lanka and the rest of the world. NU was part of this process. His family, in the quest for upliftment through education, chose to move him from a small school in Hambantota (St. Mary’s), where he had his primary education, to a secondary school in the larger town of Matara (St. Servatius’), and then to a prestigious school (St. Aloysius’) in the provincial capital of Galle – all of which were run by Jesuits.

A pansala (temple) school

The country had a network of non-fee-levying government schools teaching in Sinhala and Tamil, and one – Royal College – teaching in English. There were also English-medium non-government schools, which received government grants and levied fees. The latte were run by Christian missionaries and Buddhist organizations in Colombo and the provincial capitals. The first Englishmedium schools, during early British rule, were attended by the sons of Muhandirams, Mudaliyars and the local new-rich. A few children

from less-affluent families also attended. These schools, based on the British school system, implanted modernizing ideologies among the children. Similarly, there was also an expansion of English-medium Buddhist schools in urban areas, which modelled their curricula on the former, imparting a western-oriented, modern education, but with an emphasis on Sri Lankan and Indian history and on Buddhism. English-medium schools were a training ground for the professions, producing lawyers and doctors as well as teachers, planters, businessmen, clerks, bookkeepers and secretaries. The demand for a

modern English education increased with the growth of the colonial economy, the creation of mercantile establishments, and the consequent expansion of the job market.

Early Education at St. Mary’s

The reverence for education in Sri Lankan culture is reflected in the traditional ceremony of ‘first letters,’ in which a child is initiated into the process of writing by a respected or learned person. NU’s education started at the age of three with this ritual, which was conducted by his maternal grandfather, Gajawira. This was preceded by a visit to the temple by the whole family (de Zoysa manuscript, p.48). A few years later, registered as Ubesinghe Jayawardenage Nonis, he began his formal education in 1913 at St. Mary’s School, a typical, one-room village school for children under the age of 10. The school, located barely a mile away from the Hambantota Resthouse, was founded in 1900 by a Belgian Jesuit, Father Paul Cooreman (1863-1919), even though there were only about a dozen Catholics in the town (Perniola, 2004, p.28). Father Paul Cooreman, born in Ghent, Belgium, in 1863, came to Sri Lanka in 1899 after joining the Jesuit Order. His elder brother, Father Joseph Cooreman, was already teaching in the Southern Province. The former was allocated to Hambantota, which was referred to as “a sterile station… a locality burnt by the sun and inhabited only by Muslim merchants of salt of whom… nobody is ever converted.” Since it was difficult to recruit teachers “to come and re- side under the burning heat of this place,” Cooreman himself taught at St. Mary’s (Report of Father Feron, 1913, quoted in Perniola, pp.510-11).

NU’s sister Wimala, dressed up as Queen Victoria for a school play, Christ Church School, Tangalle

Father Cooreman was described as a “man full of duty, full of zeal,” who gave himself “body and soul to the hard work.” Cooreman worked for 20 years in Hambantota, until his death of cholera in 1919. As Perniola writes: “in his humble bullock cart he crossed the jungle or vast burning desert… paying no attention to distances or to fatigue” (ibid, p.574). St. Mary’s in NU’s time was headed by Father Wickremasinghe.

Two and a half years later, NU changed his school when his father left his job as Hambantota Resthouse keeper. The circumstances of his leaving reveal the latter’s temperament. Diyonis had declined to carry out his duties in the way the Government Agent (GA) of the Southern Province wanted, and eventually told him to ‘do the job himself.’ The GA appears to have been a difficult person to work for; as Leonard Woolf wrote many years later, he himself had been “rapped on the knuckles” by the Governor for including in his diary “some sarcastic and not unjustified criticism” of his superior, the

GA (Woolf, 1969, p.200). NU’s cousin, a clerk in the Kachcheri Mudaliyar’s office, tried to persuade Diyonis not to jeopardize his job by challenging officialdom. Disregarding his advice, Diyonis left the job and went home to Tangalle with his family (de Zoysa manuscript, p.49). NU’s maternal grandfather, Gajawira was ambitious for his grandson and felt he should be sent to a good school. In 1916 the change was made to St. Servatius’ College, Matara, which, like St. Mary’s, was run by Belgian Jesuits. NU moved to Devundara, where his maternal grandparents lived, since this was closer to Matara.

Meanwhile, Diyonis turned to cultivating his paddy land at Angunakolapelessa, a drought-stricken and depressed area frequented by elephants, 15 miles from Tangalle. NU commented: “As a child I would often help my father who had a small paddy field in a jungle area. It was a source of our income and I, being the eldest boy, was useful to my father in his work.” NU also in an interview referred to the “unproductive paddy land” his father farmed (Roshan Pieris, 1987). These childhood experiences may have resulted in NU’s realization that small landownership was neither a source of income or status, and, in later life, in his particularly critical view of those engaged in absentee-landlordism.

Some miles away from where his father farmed was an imposing dagoba on the summit of a rock known as Mulkirigala, 300 feet high. Its historic temple, carved out of rock, is famous for a wall painting depicting a troupe of female musicians, including a woman drummer. The summit presents a panoramic view of the province. Bordering Diyonis’ paddy land on all sides was forest. The backwoods in which this land lay could be viewed from the treehouse, or platform, which it was customary to have in such areas. It served as a watch-post for the cultivator to protect his crops from elephants. Made of two gnarled tamarind trees, the structure was 12 feet high, and one climbed on to it with the help of a ladder (de Zoysa manuscript, p.52).

The Tangalle Connection

Tangalle, where Diyonis and his family had their home, lay roughly midway between Matara and Hambantota. Unlike Hambantota, which was the administrative and commercial centre of the district, Tangalle was a quiet town situated on a bay. Diyonis’ house was on the Medaketiya Road – a loop road branching off from the main Tangalle-Hambantota Road, which skirts the sea front and joins the Hambantota Road at Ranna. The house was nearly two miles beyond the bridge over the Kirama Oya. A tiny lake nearby, called Rekava Kohalankala, added to the attractive setting.

NU’s parents’ home in Tangalle

A one-room school

NU’s daughter Neiliya has vivid recollections of her grandparents’ home, which she used to visit as a child:

My grandparent’s home was in Tangalle, which they sold subsequently when they moved to Colombo. I still visit this house on occasion, though the surroundings have changed. The house is still in its original condition – a U-shaped building with a central courtyard, covered with sea sand of sparkling gold. ( The house remained in its original condition up until the tsunami of December 2004, when it was completely destroyed.) The base of the ‘U’ is the living and dining rooms, and the right side has the kitchen storeroom and servant’s room, and the left side the bedrooms. During my childhood, the house had one boundary at the rear and the other was the river. It was a beautiful location, an ideal hunting ground and playing field for us children – 8 brothers’ and sisters’ children – 27 grandchildren in all. There were no other houses within sight.

Near the Jayawardena house and land at Medaketiya was the house of the Amarasinghe family, where Kusuma Gunawardena née Amarasinghe – later Member of Parliament and wife of leftist leader Philip Gunawardena – was born in 1905. Lakmali Gunawardena has

written of her mother’s birthplace and the string of towns and ports that dotted the southern coastline between Galle and Kirinde. She refers to the “thin ribbon of road [along which were] these towns, Matara, Devundara, Tangalle, Ambalantota, and smaller ones of local importance… Ranna, Hungama, Netolpitiya, and Nonagama… up to and beyond Tissamaharama” (Gunawardena, 2004, p.1).

Tangalle was a natural site for a small harbour, where the British built a resthouse on a promontory overlooking the Indian Ocean… In the early 1900s it had schools, a post office, a police station and other establishments that had elevated it from a sleepy fishing town. (ibid)

The Amarasinghes and U.J. Diyonis’ family knew each other. The second Amarasinghe son, Dayananda was a contemporary of NU’s and they kept in touch with each other throughout their lives. The houses of both families were situated on coconut land that adjoined the sea, and their lifestyles were similar. Both families were Buddhist; the Amarasinghe father, Don Davith was a building contractor who was active in the Tangalle branch of the Buddhist Theosophical Society and was the leading patron of the town’s Buddhist school – Sri Rahula Vidyalaya, which Kusuma attended. Amarasinghe, being independently employed, could afford to sponsor Buddhist education and be involved in the agitation carried out by the Buddhist movement. In contrast, Diyonis had to be cautious – if he held any ‘controversial’ views – while he served the government as a resthouse keeper.

Devundara and Matara

NU’s first break with his home was when he was sent to live with his grandfather. NU’s maternal relatives – the Gajawiras of Devundara – constituted the more-learned side of his family, and NU always acknowledged the role of his mother’s father, who took a great interest in NU’s education. By all accounts, his grandfather Gajawira was well versed in Sinhala grammar and poetry, as he had been educated at a pirivena (temple school). Gajawira had four daughters and a son. NU’s mother Podi Nona was the eldest; the youngest, Arlis Perera Gajawira (1901-82) was seven years older than NU. Like NU, his uncle Arlis also attended St. Servatius’ and joined the clerical service. He and NU became close and kept in touch in later life. Arlis even named one of his sons Neville, after NU. (Interview with Dr. Bandula Gajawira, Arlis Gajawira’s son. The family link continued when Arlis’ granddaughter married Dr. Mahilal Ratnapala, NU’s sister Wimala’s son.)

Devundara is the southernmost point of Sri Lanka, with a lighthouse, marketplace and a historic Vishnu devale. NU’s grandfather’s small house was on Lighthouse Road, which leads to the famous lighthouse. St. Servatius’ was three miles away in the town of Matara

with its Dutch fort, low ramparts, government offices and courthouse. This English-medium school, founded in 1897, was off the main road and close to a promontory called Brown’s Hill. NU studied at St. Servatius’ for four years.

On his first day in school, NU, who was accompanied by his grandfather and his uncle Arlis, was introduced to the principal. The 3-mile trek to school along the road, and probably along the beautiful Wellamadama beach, was not unusual at the time. In 1911 in Sri Lanka, the average distance on foot to the nearest school was 3 miles, with provincial averages ranging from 5 miles in the North Central Province to three-quarters of a mile in the Western Province (Denham, 1912, p.405).

NU seemed to have enjoyed his long walk to school and back, noting its beneficial effects:

My grandfather decided to have me educated at St. Servatius’ College in Matara. To reach school we had to walk three miles and this I did at the age of eight in 1916. I did not feel that walking to school was some kind of drudgery. I enjoyed school. I would get up as early as five o’clock, and by six in the morning I left with my uncle and walked to school. Looking back now perhaps it appears tedious, but I enjoyed the walk. School was over at about three in the afternoon, and I would reach home by six in the evening. The walk did have its impact, for, I think, it made me hardy and strong, especially since roads at that time were not tarred and finished as they are now and I would walk barefoot to and from school. In fact, my determination to study, to gain knowledge as it were, made me make this daily trip without finding any excuses to stay away from school. (interview by Manel Abhayaratne)

Lucien de Zoysa notes that, NU “preferred to walk barefoot, carrying his shoes in one hand… shoes were compulsory at school, but NU found it more comfortable to walk barefoot, and put on socks and shoes only as he entered the school premises” (de Zoysa manuscript, p.53). As NU recalled: “I don’t remember wearing shoes until I went to St. Servatius” (Roshan Pieris, 1992). According to Pat Williams (who was at St. Aloysius’), inexpensive Japanese tennis shoes became readily available in Sri Lanka around that time, and thus, the use of shoes became more widespread (personal communication, 2006). The walk to school, however, did appear to have put a strain on the young NU, with a negative impact on his studies. The grandfather, noting the boy’s weariness, placed NU at the home of the school catechist who lived in a house situated within the Matara

fort, one mile from St. Servatius’ College.

This change did not seem to make much of a difference to his progress in school – and perhaps made him feel more isolated and lonely. Lucien de Zoysa writes that NU’s grandfather knew, by the way that “NU got on with his Sinhalese grammar and poetry, that he was no dullard, but how to get him interested in his books was the problem.” In retrospect, de Zoysa speculated that NU’s poor performance may have been caused by separation from his doting mother and sisters. To his grandfather, he seemed to be in a world of his own. Perhaps it was due to this loneliness and homesickness that NU played truant from time to time – sometimes bathing in the Nilvala Ganga, which flowed under the bridge at Matara – perhaps recalling happier times at the river and beach back home in Tangalle (de Zoysa manuscript, p.53).

Given this separation from his parents and siblings, NU looked forward to returning to Tangalle during school holidays. We have evidence of this from NU’s niece, Chandrani, who says:

My mother [Rosalind] related to us that she looked forward to my uncle [NU’s] school vacation so that they could give him the best of food to make him plump and healthy. She said that she measured his arm on the

first day he came home to check how much weight he had put on by the end of the vacation. The food they had was thala guli [sesame sweet] and banana on waking; then a plate of rice with bala maalu [tuna] and kiri hodhi [coconut gravy]. After lunch, they had mi kiri [buffalo curd] and

honey [palm treacle].

NU also soon had two younger brothers: David born in 1910, and the ‘baby’ Peter born in 1915. David was outgoing and boisterous, whereas NU tended to be introverted. In 1920, after 4 years at St. Servatius’, NU at the age of 12 was sent to St. Aloysius’ College in Galle. The move to St. Aloysius’ was to be a crucial milestone in his life.

Ironically, in his early days NU did not do well in arithmetic or mathematics. He himself often stated that he was a late developer, and his childhood schooling, though it opened to him a new world of books, did not really give him any impetus to further his knowledge in any particular subject. When he reached the 5th standard in school, family circumstances favoured him once again, when his eldest sister Charlotte was married in 1919 to Thevis Nanayakkara. This was a fortuitous event that solved the dilemma facing his maternal grandfather, who had been worried about his grandson’s progress. They decided that NU should go to St. Aloysius’ College in Galle, since Charlotte’s house was half a mile away from the Talpe railway station, 6 miles from Galle. NU was later joined at the Nanayakkara residence by his younger brothers, David and Peter.

The Importance of Railways Indrani Munasinghe’s book, The Colonial Economy on Track (2001) documents the story of transport expansion and the way the network of roads and railways built in the 19th century changed the lives of many who lived in areas remote from Colombo. Before the coming of the railways, towns such as Kandy, Jaffna and Galle had been linked by new roads to Colombo, but travel was by cart, horsedrawn coach, or on horseback. Norah Roberts writes that, the Colombo- Kandy coach was started in 1832, and by 1838 there was a two-horse Galle Royal Mail Coach leaving Galle at 6 o’clock in the morning to arrive in Colombo at 4.30 in the afternoon, as well as a Galle-Matara coach. These coaches, which charged differential amounts from various categories of persons – Europeans, Burghers, lawyers and Mudaliyars – were, however, beyond the reach of the mass of people, who used bullock carts, and hackeries (light carriages)

or walked to their destinations (Norah Roberts, 1993, p.9).

After the Colombo-Kandy rail connection was opened in 1867, railways were extended to other towns in the Central and Uva provinces, to cater to the needs of the plantation sector. Railway expansion, which benefited the inhabitants of other provinces, occurred subsequently. This accessibility between provincial towns and Colombo enabled many to commute to work and even to school from outlying areas. The coastal line from Colombo to Matara via Galle, a distance of 100 miles, was completed by 1895. The expansion of railways was certainly a most welcome innovation for southerners. A schoolteacher described the arrival of the first train in Galle in 1894, “with decorated engine,” adding that “the band played and people danced on the platform” (quoted in Roberts, 1993, p.9).

NU benefited from the coming of railways to the South. He had once used to walk many miles from Devundara to school in Matara and back, as the railway line did not go beyond Matara. But when he was transferred to school in Galle, he travelled in the trains that operated between Matara and Galle. The railways changed NU’s life, as did his new school, St. Aloysius’ College. (N.U. JAYAWARDENA The First Five Decades Chapter 2 can read online on https://island.lk/nus-social-milieu/))

(Excerpted from N. U. JAYAWARDENA The first five decades)
By Kumari Jayawardena and Jennifer Moragoda


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Features

Partnering India without dependence

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13 hours ago

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2026/03/31

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President Dissanayake with Indian PM Modi

Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi once again signaled the priority India places on Sri Lanka by swiftly dispatching a shipload of petrol following a telephone conversation with President Anura Kumara Dissanayake. The Indian Prime Minister’s gesture came at a cost to India, where there have been periodic supply constraints and regional imbalances in fuel distribution, even if not a countrywide shortage. Under Prime Minister Modi, India has demonstrated to Sri Lanka an abundance of goodwill, whether it be the USD 4 billion it extended in assistance to Sri Lanka when it faced international bankruptcy in 2022 or its support in the aftermath of the Ditwah cyclone disaster that affected large parts of the country four months ago. India’s assistance in 2022 was widely acknowledged as critical in stabilising Sri Lanka at a moment of acute crisis.

This record of assistance suggests that India sees Sri Lanka not merely as a neighbour but as a partner whose stability is in its own interest. In contrast to Sri Lanka’s roughly USD 90 billion economy, India’s USD 4,500 billion economy, growing at over 6 percent, underlines the vast asymmetry in economic scale and the importance of Sri Lanka engaging India. A study by the Germany-based Kiel Institute for the World Economy identifies Sri Lanka as the second most vulnerable country in the world to severe food price surges due to its heavy reliance on imported energy and fertilisers. Income per capita remains around the 2018 level after the economic collapse of 2022. The poverty level has risen sharply and includes a quarter of the population. These indicators underline the urgency of sustained economic recovery and the importance of external partnerships, including with India.

It is, however, important for Sri Lanka not to abdicate its own responsibilities for improving the lives of its people or become dependent and take this Indian assistance for granted. A long unresolved issue that Sri Lanka has been content to leave the burden to India concerns the approximately 90,000 Sri Lankan refugees who continue to live in India, many of them for over three decades. Only recently has a government leader, Minister Bimal Rathnayake, publicly acknowledged their existence and called on them to return. This is a reminder that even as Sri Lanka receives support, it must also take ownership of its own unfinished responsibilities.

Missing Investment

A missing factor in Sri Lanka’s economic development has long been the paucity of foreign investment. In the past this was due to political instability caused by internal conflict, weaknesses in the rule of law, and high levels of corruption. There are now significant improvements in this regard. There is now a window to attract investment from development partners, including India. In his discussions with President Dissanayake, Prime Minister Modi is reported to have referred to the British era oil storage tanks in Trincomalee. These were originally constructed to service the British naval fleet in the Indian Ocean. In 1987, under the Indo Lanka Peace Accord, Sri Lanka agreed to develop these tanks in partnership with India. A further agreement was signed in 2022 involving the Ceylon Petroleum Corporation and the Lanka Indian Oil Corporation to jointly develop the facility.

However, progress has been slow and the project remains only partially implemented. The value of these oil storage tanks has become clearer in the context of global energy uncertainty and tensions in the Middle East. Energy analysts have pointed out that strategic storage facilities can provide countries with greater resilience in times of supply disruption. The Trincomalee tanks could become a significant strategic asset not only for Sri Lanka but also for regional energy security. However, historical baggage continues to stand in the way of Sri Lanka’s deeper economic linkage with India. Both ancient and modern history shape perceptions on both sides.

The asymmetry in size and power between the two countries is a persistent concern within Sri Lanka. India is a regional power, while Sri Lanka is a small country. This imbalance creates both opportunities for partnership and anxieties about overdependence. The present government too has entered into economic and infrastructure agreements with India, but many of these have yet to move beyond initial stages. This has caused frustration to the Indian government, which sees its efforts to support Sri Lanka’s development as not being sufficiently appreciated or effectively utilised. From India’s perspective, delays and hesitation can appear as a lack of commitment. From Sri Lanka’s perspective, caution is often driven by domestic political sensitivities and concerns about sovereignty.

Power Imbalance

At the same time, global developments offer a cautionary lesson. The behaviour of major powers in the contemporary international system shows that states often act in their own interests, sometimes at the expense of smaller partners. What is being seen in the world today is that past friendships and commitments can be abandoned if a bigger and more powerful country can see an opportunity for itself. The plight of Denmark (Greenland) and Canada (51st state) give disturbing messages. Analysts in the field of International Relations frequently point out that power asymmetries shape outcomes in bilateral relations. As one widely cited observation by Lord Parlmeston, a 19th century prime minister of Great Britain is that “nations have no permanent friends or allies, they only have permanent interests.” While this may be an overly stark formulation, it captures an underlying reality that small states must navigate carefully.

For Sri Lanka, this means maintaining a balance. It needs to clearly acknowledge the partnership that India is offering in the area of economic development, as well as in education, connectivity, and technological advancement. India has extended scholarships, supported digital infrastructure, and promoted cross border links that can contribute to Sri Lanka’s long term growth. These are tangible benefits that should not be undervalued. At the same time, Sri Lanka needs to ensure that it does not become overly dependent on Indian largesse or drift into a position where it functions as an appendage of its much larger neighbour. Economic dependence can translate into political vulnerability if not carefully managed. The appropriate response is not to distance itself from India, but to broaden its partnerships. Engaging with a diverse range of countries and institutions can provide Sri Lanka with greater autonomy and resilience.

A hard headed assessment would recognise that India’s support is both genuine and interest driven. India has a clear stake in ensuring that Sri Lanka remains stable, prosperous, and aligned with its broader regional outlook. Sri Lanka needs to move forward with agreed projects such as the Trincomalee oil tanks, improve implementation capacity, and demonstrate reliability as a partner. This does not preclude it from actively seeking investment and cooperation from other partners in Asia and beyond. The path ahead is therefore one of balanced engagement. Sri Lanka can and should welcome India’s partnership while strengthening its own institutions, fulfilling its domestic responsibilities, and diversifying its external relations. This approach can transform a relationship shaped by asymmetry into one defined by mutual benefit and confidence.

by Jehan Perera

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The university student

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2026/03/31

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A file photo of a university students’ protest against private medical colleges

This Article is formed from listening to university students from across the country for two research initiatives, one on academic freedom and another on higher education policy. In speaking with students, the fears they carry could not be ignored. Students navigate university education, with anxieties about their future and fears that they and their university education are inadequate, all while managing their families’ daily struggles. I explore students’ anxieties and the extent to which we, the public, and higher education policies must take responsibility for their experiences.

The Neoliberal University

For decades, universities have been transforming. Neoliberal policies, promoted by the World Bank, have reduced public education expenditure and weakened the State’s commitment to public institutions. These policies frame individuals as responsible for their success and failure, minimising structural realities, such as poverty and precarity. They instrumentalise education, treat students as “products” for a “competitive’ job market, while education markets feed on students’ insecurities. Students are made to feel lacking in “soft skills”, or skills seemingly necessary to navigate classed-corporate structures, and lacking in technical skills, or those needed to operate technologies used within the private sector.

Student activists and, sometimes teachers, have challenged this worldview, demanding State commitment to free education. Governments sometimes yield but also fear the consequences of student politics and have long waged campaigns to discredit student activism. It is within this context that students pursue education.

Portrayal of students

A Peradeniya student told me student-organised events must meet “high standards”, because of the negative public perceptions of university students. I understood what she meant; I had heard of our ‘ungrateful’, ‘wasteful’, ‘unemployable’, and ‘entitled’ students. The media and decades of government propaganda have reinforced these depictions.

About 10 years ago, when government moves to privatise higher education were strong, a corporate executive, complaining about traffic caused by “yet another useless protest”, was unable to explain why they protested. News coverage, I realised, framed these protests as public inconveniences, rarely addressing students’ demands. A prominent advocate, of neoliberal educational policy, reinforced this narrative, saying “state university students make up just 10 percent of their cohorts”, gesturing dismissively as if to say their concerns were insignificant. Such language belittles student activists and youth, renders them voiceless and allows their concerns, such as classed worldviews, and access barriers to and privatisation of education, to be easily dismissed.

It is in this environment that the conception of the useless university student, fighting for no reason, has developed. Students must carry this misrepresentation, irrespective of their own involvement in activism.

Not being good enough

Attacks on free higher education and the absence of meaningful reforms designed to address students’ problems, now weigh on students’ minds. Students question whether their education is relevant and current, pointing to outdated equipment, software, and curricula. University administrators acknowledge these constraints, which reflect Sri Lanka’s ranking as one of the lowest in the world for the public funding of education and higher education.

Rarely has the World Bank, so influential in driving educational policy, highlighted the public funding crisis and, instead, emphasises technological deficiencies, the public sector’s “monopoly” of higher education and limited private sector involvement. It downplays the reality that few families can privately afford such funding arrangements.

Students are also bombarded with fee-levying programmes, promising skills and access to jobs, preying on students’ insecurities. Many, while struggling to make ends meet, enrol in off-campus pricy professional courses, such as in accountancy, marketing, or English.

The arts student

Some students worry their education is too theoretical and “Arts-focused.” A student from the University of Colombo described having to justify her decision to pursue an arts degree. The public, she said, saw this as a waste of her time and the country’s resources. She courageously wore this identity, yet questioned if she was, in fact, unemployable as she was being led to believe.

She does not, however, draw on the fact that arts education has long been the “cheap” option that governments have offered when pressured to expand higher education. While arts education may need fewer laboratories and equipment, they require adequate investments on teachers, strong on content and pedagogy, to closely engage with individual students; aspects of arts education which have systematically been disregarded.

As access broadens, particularly in the arts, more students from marginalised backgrounds have entered universities; students who may feel alien in systems aligned with corporate interests. Thus, students quite different from the classed conception of the “employable graduate,” whose education has systematically been under-funded, graduate from arts programmes frustrated, diffident, and ill-suited for jobs to which they are expected to aspire.

The dysfunctional university

Students voice criticisms of their teachers, as myopic, unworldly, and unfair. Their perspective reflects the universities’ culture of hierarchy and its intolerance of difference, on the one hand, and the weak institutional structures on the other. They are symptoms of years of neglect and attempts by governments to delegitimise universities, to shed themselves of the burden of funding higher education through anti-public sector rhetoric.

Some students, marginalised for being anti-rag, women, or ethnic minorities, feel an added layer of burdens. Anti-rag students, or more often, students who do not submit to university hierarchies, whether enforced by students or staff, are ostracised, demeaned and sometimes subjected to violence. Students unable to speak the institution’s dominant language face inadequate institutional support. Women describe being ignored and silenced in student union activities and left out of student leadership positions.

Furthermore, quality assurance processes rarely prioritise academic freedom or students’ right to exist as they wish, except when they complement the process of creating a desirable graduate for the job market. These processes focus on moulding professionals and technicians, as one would form clay, disregarding students’ anxieties from being alienated from themselves by such efforts.

Problems at home

Beyond the campus, parents face debt, illness, and precarious work. Students are acutely aware of these struggles. Some describe parents collapsing from the strain and sometimes leaving them to carry the family’s difficulties. A student described feeling guilty for being at the University while his family struggled to survive. To ease the burden on their families, students earn incomes by providing tuition, delivering food, and carrying out microbusinesses.

Tied to their concerns over having to depend on their families, is their fear of being “unemployable”, a term that places the blame of unemployment on students’ skill deficiencies. Little in this discourse connects the lack of decent work and jobs for them and their parents to the weak economy and job markets into which successive batches of graduates must transition. Much of the available jobs in the country are those that require little in the form of education, and those, too do little to provide a living wage. Students must, therefore, compete for a limited number and breadth of frankly not very desirable work. Yet, it is they who must feel the weight of unemployability.

Committing to students

Universities frequently fail to recognise students’ worries. Instead, we, coopt neoliberal discourses, telling students to become more marketable and competitive, do and learn more, be confident, improve English, learn to inhabit those classed spaces with ease; often without the support that should accompany these messages.

We expect these students, insecure and anxious, to think critically, and demonstrate curiosity and higher-order analyses. When they collapse under the pressure, universities respond by providing mental health services. While such services are needed, they risk individualising and pathologising systemic problems. They represent yet again the inherent flaws with solutions that emerge from neoliberal ideological positions that treat individuals as the source of all success and failure. Such perspectives are likely to reinforce students’ anxieties, rather than address them.

As Sri Lanka revisits education policy reforms, there is an opportunity to change our framings of education and to recognise these concerns of students as central to any policy. The state must renew its commitment to free education and move from the neoliberal logic that has guided successive reform efforts; we, as the public, must restore our hope and expectations from free education. Education across disciplines, the arts, as well as STEM (science, technology, engineering and mathematics), must be strengthened. Students’ freedom to inhabit university spaces as they wish, must be respected and protected by institutions. Education policies must be tied to broader economic and labour reforms that ensure families can safely earn a living wage and graduates can access a rich range of decent meaningful work.

(Shamala Kumar teaches 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 Shamala Kumar

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On the right track … as a solo artiste

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13 hours ago

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2026/03/31

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Mihiri: Worked with several top local band

Mihiri Chethana Gunawardena is certainly on the right track, in the music scene.

The plus factor, where Mihiri is concerned, is that she has music deeply rooted in her upbringing, and is now doing her thing in the Maldives.

Her father, Clifton Gunawardena, was a student of the legendary Premasiri Kemadasa and former rhythm guitarist of the Super 7 band.

Mihiri took to music, after her higher studies, and her first performance was with her father, while employed.

Mihiri Chethana Gunawardena

After eight years of balancing both worlds – working and music – she chose to follow her true calling and embraced music as her full-time profession.

Over the years, Mihiri has worked with some of the top bands in the local scene, including D Major, C Plus from Negombo, Heat with Aubrey, Mirage, D Zone Warehouse Project and Freeze.

In fact, she even put together her own band, Faith, in 2017, performing at numerous events, and weddings, before the Covid pandemic paused their journey.

What’s more, her singing career has taken her across borders –performing twice in Dhaka, Bangladesh, with the late Anil Bharathi and the late Roney Leitch, and multiple times in the Maldives, including a special New Year’s Eve performance with D Major.

In the Maldives, on a one-month contract

Last year, Mihiri was in Dubai, along with the group Knights, for the Ananda UAE 2025 dance.

She continues to grow as a solo artiste, now working closely with the renowned Wildfire guitarist Derek Wikramanayake, and performing, as a freelance musician, travelling around the world.

Right now, she is in the Maldives, on a one-month contract, marking a new chapter in her evolution as a solo vocalist.

On her return, she says, she hopes to create fresh cover songs and original music for her fans.

Mihiri believes in spreading joy and positivity through her singing, and peace and happiness for everyone around her, and for the world, through music.

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