Features
English the official language:What India and Sri Lanka can teach US
The United States isn’t the first country to wrestle with the idea of enforcing a single national language. In fact, two Asian democracies—India and Sri Lanka—offer cautionary tales about how language policies, when driven by nationalist ideals, can deepen social divides instead of healing them.
In a sweeping move that has sparked fierce debate across the country, President Donald Trump signed an executive order officially declaring English as the national language of the United States. The announcement came on March 1, 2025, along with the removal of the Spanish-language version of the White House website, signaling a renewed push toward what many are calling “linguistic nationalism.”
While supporters hail the decision as a unifying force, critics warn it could divide the nation further by alienating millions of Americans who speak languages other than English.
Why This Order Matters
The new executive order marks a sharp departure from previous language-access policies, notably reversing a Clinton-era rule that required federally funded programmes to offer assistance in multiple languages. Now, while government agencies are allowed to continue offering services in other languages, there’s no longer a mandate to do so. Instead, they’re “encouraged” to promote English proficiency as a gateway to opportunity.
According to the White House, the change is about “strengthening national unity,” claiming that a common language empowers Americans—new and old—to engage more fully in society.
“English is the language of our founding documents, of our shared culture, and of our national success,” President Trump stated in a press release.
The Reality on the Ground
However, the U.S. isn’t exactly a monolingual country. Far from it. According to the latest Census data, over 350 languages are spoken in American homes. Spanish, Chinese, Tagalog, Vietnamese, and Arabic are just a few of the most common.
For many immigrants and ethnic communities, language is more than a tool for communication—it’s a part of their identity. Critics argue that making English the sole official language could marginalise these groups, reduce access to public services like healthcare and education, and ultimately create a more divided society.
“This policy sends a message that some Americans are more ‘American’ than others,” says Dr. Elena Cárdenas, a linguistics and civil rights researcher. “It doesn’t promote unity—it punishes diversity.”
What Other Countries Have Done
The U.S. is one of the few developed nations that has never had an official language—until now. Countries like France and China have long enforced language laws to preserve a national identity. But those policies have come with their own challenges, including the suppression of regional dialects and minority languages.
Meanwhile, nations like Canada and Switzerland have embraced multilingualism. Canada’s bilingual system (English and French) is often credited with strengthening its global trade relationships and social inclusiveness. Switzerland, with four national languages, shows that diversity in language doesn’t have to be a weakness—it can be a strength.
What’s at Stake: Brain functions and human rights
Supporters of the executive order argue that using a single language will make government operations more efficient and encourage immigrants to assimilate. They also point to the fact that more than 30 U.S. states already recognise English as their official language.
But many economists and education experts see it differently. Studies show that being multilingual boosts brain function, increases job opportunities, and improves a country’s ability to compete in global markets. In fact, the European Union operates with 24 official languages and considers linguistic diversity a key part of its economic and diplomatic strategy.
There’s also the legal angle. Critics say removing language-access requirements could violate international human rights agreements, including United Nations guidelines that promote linguistic and cultural inclusion.
A Political Flashpoint
This isn’t the first time language has become a political hot-button. Similar debates have played out in places like Sri Lanka and India, where promoting one language over others led to long-standing social unrest and even violence.
While the U.S. situation is different, the tension is real. Civil rights groups are already exploring legal challenges. Many Spanish-speaking Americans and other minority communities fear losing access to vital information—from disaster alerts to voting instructions—if those services are no longer offered in their native languages.
“This policy doesn’t build bridges—it builds walls,” said Congressman Luis Gutierrez. “It’s less about language and more about whose voices get heard.”
Sri Lanka: A Language That Sparked a Civil War
In 1956, Sri Lanka passed the Sinhala Only Act, which made Sinhala the sole official language of the country. This law was pushed by nationalist Sinhalese politicians to assert cultural dominance in a newly independent nation. But in doing so, it marginalised Tamil-speaking minorities—many of whom had lived in the country for generations.
The consequences were far-reaching and tragic. Tamil communities were excluded from government jobs, education, and public services. Over time, this linguistic injustice fueled ethnic tensions that escalated into a brutal civil war lasting nearly 30 years. Many experts and historians point to the Sinhala Only Act as a key trigger for the conflict. In short, language policy turned into a weapon of division rather than a tool of unity.
India: A Nation United in Diversity—But Not Without Tensions
India, too, has had its struggles with language politics. After independence in 1947, leaders attempted to make Hindi the sole official language. But this move met strong resistance, especially from southern states where people speak Dravidian languages like Tamil, Telugu, and Kannada.
To prevent further unrest, the Indian government compromised by keeping English as an additional associate official language, alongside Hindi. Today, India recognises 22 official languages and supports many regional tongues. While tensions over language still flare up occasionally, the country has largely managed to celebrate its linguistic diversity rather than suppress it.
These international examples show us what can happen when language policies ignore the lived realities of multilingual societies. Instead of creating a shared sense of belonging, such policies can end up deepening divides—whether ethnic, regional, or cultural.
To understand the risks, look no further than Sri Lanka—a country whose well-intentioned language policy in 1956 led not to unity, but to decades of violence.
Sri Lanka: When Language Laws Divide Instead of Unite
In the aftermath of independence, Sri Lanka’s government passed the Sinhala Only Act, making Sinhala the exclusive official language of administration, law, and education. While meant to assert sovereignty and majority identity, it alienated Tamil-speaking minorities who had been integral to the nation’s social fabric.
The Tamil population faced systemic exclusion: they lost access to public sector jobs, university admissions, and government services. Peaceful protests were met with repression, and what began as a linguistic grievance eventually transformed into an armed ethnic conflict. By the early 1980s, Sri Lanka was in the grip of a full-blown civil war, one of the longest and bloodiest in Asia. Historians widely agree: the Sinhala Only policy didn’t just fail to unite Sri Lanka—it fractured it. The country is still healing from the scars today.
India: Diversity Managed Through Inclusion, Not Imposition
In contrast, neighbouring India avoided such a fate by adopting a more pluralistic approach. Though Hindi was promoted as a national language, protests—particularly from Tamil Nadu—led the central government to compromise. Today, India recognizes 22 official languages, with both Hindi and English used at the national level, and regional languages thriving within states.
While not without tensions, India’s inclusive linguistic framework has helped preserve national unity in a country of over 1.4 billion people and extraordinary linguistic diversity.
Conclusion
The ongoing debate in the United States over making English the sole official language may appear as a patriotic initiative aimed at fostering unity. However, history offers a cautionary tale. In 1956, Sri Lanka introduced the “Sinhala Only Act,” effectively excluding the Tamil-speaking minority from state affairs, education, and employment. Rather than uniting the nation, this policy sowed deep resentment, ultimately contributing to a devastating civil war that lasted nearly three decades and claimed over 100,000 lives. The lesson is clear: language is not merely a means of communication—it is a symbol of identity, dignity, and inclusion.
Today, India recognises 22 official languages and uses English as a neutral bridge, managing to maintain unity within diversity despite significant challenges. The Indian experience demonstrates that pluralism, though messy, can be a powerful safeguard against social fragmentation.
As the U.S. contemplates linguistic policy, it must recognise the complex emotional and political weight language carries. In a nation where communities speak hundreds of languages and dialects, enforcing a single linguistic identity risk marginalising entire populations and undermining social cohesion. Rather than repeating historical mistakes, the U.S. has the opportunity to lead by example—building unity not through exclusion, but through recognition and respect for its linguistic and cultural mosaic.
The lesson for the U.S.? Imposing a one-language-fits-all policy may seem like a path to national unity, but it risks alienating communities and undermining the very cohesion it aims to promote. As history shows, true unity often lies in embracing diversity—not erasing it.
(The writer, a senior Chartered Accountant and professional banker, is Professor at SLIIT , Malabe. He is also the author of the “Doing Social Research and Publishing Results”, a Springer publication (Singapore), and “Samaja Gaveshakaya (in Sinhala). The views and opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the institution he works for. He can be contacted at saliya.a@slit.lk and www.researcher.com)
Features
Partnering India without dependence
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
Features
The university student
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
Features
On the right track … as a solo artiste
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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