Features
Keynote Speech at the Launch of The Ceylon Journal, by Rohan Pethiyagoda

“How Rubber Shaped our Political Philosophy”
The Ceylon Journal was launched last August. Its first issue is already out of print. Only a handful of the second issue covering new perspectives of history, art, law, politics, folklore, and many other facets of Sri Lanka is available. To reserve your very own copy priced Rs. 2000 call on 0725830728.
Congratulations, Avishka [Senewiratne]. I am so proud of what you have done. Especially, Ladies and Gentlemen, to see and hear all of us stand up and actually sing the National Anthem was such a pleasure. Too often on occasions like this, the anthem is played, and no one sings. And we sang so beautifully this evening that it brought tears to my eyes. It is not often we get to think patriotic thoughts in Sri Lanka nowadays: this evening was a refreshing exception.
I’m never very sure what to say on an occasion like this, in which we celebrate history, especially given that I am a scientist and not a historian. It poses something of a challenge for me. Although we are often told that we must study history because it repeats itself, I don’t believe it ever does. But history certainly informs us: articles such as those in The Ceylon Journal, of which I read an advance copy, help us understand the context of our past and how it explains our present.
I want to take an example and explain what I am on about. I’m going to talk about rubber. Yes rubber, as in ‘eraser’, and how it crafted our national political identity, helping, even now seven decades later, to make ‘capitalism’ a pejorative.
As I think you know already, rubber came into general use in the middle of the 19th century. Charles Macintosh invented the raincoat in 1824 by placing a thin sheet of rubber between two sheets of fabric and pressing them together. That invention transformed many things, not least warfare. Just think of Napoleon’s invasion of Russia in the winter of 1812. His troops did that without any kind of waterproof clothing. Some 200,000 of them perished, not from bullets but from hypothermia. Waterproof raincoats could have saved thousands of lives. Not long after rubber came to be used for waterproofing, we saw the first undersea telegraph cable connecting Europe to North America being laid in the 1850s. When the American civil war broke out in 1860, demand for rubber increased yet further: the troops needed raincoats and other items made from this miracle material.
At that time rubber, used to be collected from the wild in the province of Pará in Northern Brazil, across which the Amazon drains into the Atlantic. In 1866, steamers began plying thousands of kilometres upriver, to return with cargoes of rubber harvested from the rainforest. Soon, the wild trees were being tapped to exhaustion and the sustainability of supply became doubtful.
Meanwhile, England was at the zenith of its colonial power, and colonial strategists thought rather like corporate strategists do today. The director of the Kew Gardens at the time, Joseph Hooker, felt there might be one day be a greater potential for rubber. He decided to look into the possibility of cultivating the rubber tree, Hevea brasiliensis, in Britain’s Asian colonies. So, he dispatched a young man called Henry Wickham to the Amazon to try to secure some seeds. In 1876, Wickham returned to Kew with 70,000 rubber seeds. These were planted out in hothouses in Kew and by the end of that year, almost 2000 of them had germinated.
These were dispatched to Ceylon, only a few weeks’ voyage away now, thanks to steamships and the Suez Canal. The director of the Peradeniya Botanic Garden at the time was George Henry Kendrick Thwaites, a brilliant systematic botanist and horticulturalist. Thwaites received the seedlings and had to decide where to plant them. He read the available literature—remember, this was 1876: there was no internet—and managed to piece together a model of the climatic conditions in the region of the Amazonian rainforest to which rubber was native. He decided that the plants would need an elevation of less than 300 metres and a minimum annual rainfall of at least 2000mm. In other words, the most suitable region for rubber would be an arc about 30 kilometres wide, extending roughly from Ambalangoda to Matale. Despite his never having seen a rubber plant until then, astonishingly, he got it exactly right.
Thwaites settled on a site in the middle of the arc, at Henarathgoda near Gampaha. That became the world’s first rubber nursery: the first successful cultivation of this tree outside Brazil. The trees grew well and, eight years later, came into seed. Henry Trimen, Thwaites’ successor, used the seeds to establish an experimental plantation near Polgahawela and also shared seeds with the Singapore Botanic Garden. Those would later become the foundation of the great Malaysian rubber industry.
But up to that time, Sri Lanka’s rubber plantation remained a solution looking for a problem. Then, in 1888, the problem arrived, and from a completely unexpected quarter: John Dunlop invented the pneumatic tire. Soon, bicycles came to be fitted with air-filled tires, followed by motorcars. In 1900, the US produced just 5,000 motorcars; by 1915, production had risen to half a million. The great rubber boom had begun.
Meanwhile, the colonial administration in Ceylon had invited investors to buy land and start cultivating rubber to feed the growing international demand. But by the early 1890s, three unusual things had happened. First, with the collapse of the coffee industry in the mid-1870s, many British investors had been bankrupted. Those who survived had to divert all their available capital into transitioning their failing coffee plantations into tea. They were understandably averse to risk. As a result, the British showed little interest in this strange tree called rubber that had been bought from Brazil.
Second, a native Sri Lankan middle class had by then emerged. The Colebrooke-Cameron reforms had led to the establishment of the Royal academy, later Royal College, by 1835. Other great schools followed in quick succession. From the middle of the 19th century, it was possible for Sri Lankans to get an education and get employment in government service, become professionals, doctors, lawyers, engineers, civil servants, clerks, and so on. And so, by the 1890s, a solid native middle class had emerged. The feature that defines a middle class, of course, is savings, and these savings now came to be translated into the capital that founded the rubber industry.
Third, the British had by then established a rail and road network and created the legal and commercial institutions for managing credit and doing business—institutions like banks, financial services, contract law and laws that regulated bankruptcy. They had made the rules, but by now, Sri Lankans had learned to play the game. And so, it came to be that Sri Lankans came to own a substantial part of the rubber-plantation industry very early in the game. By 1911, almost 200,000 acres of rubber had been planted and world demand was growing exponentially.
In just one generation, investors in rubber were reaping eye-watering returns that in today’s money would equate to Rs 3.6 million per acre per year. It was these people who, together with the coconut barons, came to own the grand mansions that adorn the poshest roads in Cinnamon Gardens: Ward Place, Rosmead Place, Barnes Place, Horton Place, and so on. There was an astonishingly rapid creation of indigenous wealth. By 1911, the tonnage at shipping calling in Sri Lankan ports—Colombo and Trincomalee—exceeded nine million tons, making them collectively the third busiest in the British Empire and the seventh busiest in the world. By comparison, the busiest port in Europe is now Rotterdam, which ranks tenth in the world.
We often blame politicians for things that go wrong in our country and God knows they are responsible for most of it. But unfortunately for us, the first six years of independence, from 1948 to 1954, were really unlucky years for Sri Lanka. As if successive failed monsoons and falling rice crops weren’t bad enough, along came the Korean war. In the meantime, the Sri Lankan people had got used to the idea of food rations during the war and they wanted rations to be continued as free handouts. Those demands climaxed in the ‘Hartal’ of 1953, a general strike demanding something for nothing. Politicians were being forced to keep the promises they had made when before independence, that they would deliver greater prosperity than under the British.
So, by 1949, D. S. Senanayake was forced to devalue the rupee, leading to rapid price inflation. Thankfully we didn’t have significant foreign debt then, or we might have had to declare insolvency much earlier than we finally did, in 2022. And then, because of failing paddy harvests, we were forced to buy rice
from China, which was in turn buying our rubber. But as luck would have it, China entered the Korean war, causing the UN, at the behest of the US, to embargo rubber exports to China.
This placed the D. S. Senanayake and John Kotelawala governments in an impossible predicament. There was a rice shortage; people were demanding free rice, and without rubber exports, there was no foreign exchange with which to buy rice. Kotelawala flew to Washington, D.C., to meet with President Eisenhower and plead for either an exemption from the embargo or else, for the US to buy our rubber. Despite Sri Lanka having provided rubber to the Allies at concessionary prices during the war and having supported the Allies, Eisenhower refused. British and American memories were short indeed. In India, Mahatma Gandhi and the Congress Party had chosen the moment, in August 1942 when Japan invaded Southeast Asia and were poised to invade Bengal, to demand that the British quit India, threatening in the alternative that they would throw their lot in with the Japanese. The Sri Lankan government, by contrast, had stood solidly by the Allies. But now, those same allies stabbed the fledgling nation in the chest. Gratitude, it seemed, was a concept alien to the West.
In these circumstances, Sri Lanka had no choice but to break the UN embargo and enter into a rice-for-rubber barter agreement with China. This resulted not only in the US suspending aid and the supply of agricultural chemicals to Sri Lanka, but also invoking the Battle Act and placing restrictions on US and UK ships calling at the island’s ports.
Understandably, by 1948, Sri Lankans entertained a strong disdain for colonialism. With the Cold War now under way, the USSR and China did all they could to split countries like Sri Lana away not just from their erstwhile colonial masters but also the capitalist system. If any doubt persisted in the minds of Sri Lankan politicians, Western sanctions put an end to that. The country fell into the warm embrace of the communist powers. China and the USSR were quick to fill the void left by the West, and especially in the 1950s, there was good reason to believe that the communist system was working. The Soviet economy was seeing unprecedented growth, and that decade saw them producing hydrogen bombs and putting the first satellite, dog and man in space.
As a consequence of the West’s perfidy in the early 1950s, ‘Capitalism’ continues to have pejorative connotations in Sri Lanka to this day. And it resulted in us becoming more insular, more inward looking, and anxious to assert our nationalism even when it cost us dearly.
Soon, we abolished the use of English, and we nationalized Western oil companies and the plantations. None of these things did us the slightest bit of good. We even changed the name of the country in English from Ceylon to Sri Lanka. Most countries in the world have an international name in addition to the name they call themselves. Sri Lanka had been ‘Lanka’ in Sinhala throughout the colonial period, even as its name had been Ceylon in English. The Japanese don’t call themselves Japan in their own language, neither do the Germans call themselves Germany. These are international names for Nihon and Deutschland, just like Baharat or Hindustan is what Indians call India. But we insisted that little Sri Lanka will assert itself and insist what the world would call us, the classic symptom of a massive inferiority complex. While countries like Singapore built on the brand value of their colonial names, we erased ours from the books. Now, no one knows where Ceylon tea or Ceylon cinnamon comes from.
Singapore is itself a British name: it should be Sinha Pura, the Lion City, a Sanskrit name. But Singapore values its bottom line more than its commitment to terminological exactitude. Even the name of its first British governor, Sir Stamford Raffles, has become a valued national brand. But here in Sri Lanka, rather than build on our colonial heritage, not the least liberal values the British engendered in us, together with democracy and a moderately regulated economy, we have chosen to deny it and seek to expunge it from our memory. We rejected the good values of the West along with the bad: like courtesy, queuing, and the idea that corruption is wrong.
We have stopped fighting for the dignity of our land, and I hope that as you read the articles in The Ceylon Journal that are published in the future, we will be reminded time and time again of the beautiful heritage of our country and how we can once again find it in ourselves to be proud of this wonderful land.
Features
The ironies of history

By Uditha Devapriya
In his tract on the ethnic conflict, written on the eve of the second insurrection, Rohana Wijeweera framed Indian intervention in Sri Lanka as part of a wider historical process, underscoring the island’s long history of occupation by foreign forces. Neither Wijeweera nor the top brass of the party advocated for or justified violence against the Sri Lankan Tamil community, even those who were wrongly viewed as “fifth columns.” Yet in making such observations, Wijeweera trivialised both the structural causes of the civil war and the geopolitics of Indian intervention in the region.
The JVP is currently the dominant party in the NPP alliance, which a fortnight ago hosted the Indian Prime Minister, bestowed on him an award described as the “highest honour” reserved for foreign leaders, took him around Colombo and then Anuradhapura, and signed around, if not more than, six agreements, one of them to do with defence and another on power and energy. (On the day of his arrival, Sri Lankan Prime Minister Harini Amarasuriya was in Paris, participating at a conference on the preservation of the “Sacred City of Anuradhapura.”) The visit transpired against the backdrop of rising global tensions, and if the press releases are right, the JVP appears to have turned pragmatist. Certainly, the irony of an Indian Prime Minister being taken to Anuradhapura by the NPP should not be lost sight of: in his tract, Wijeweera traced the origins of Indian intervention in the country to the invasion of the Anuradhapura kingdom in the 11th century AD.
For Sri Lanka, India remains a mixed bag. Some advocate for closer integration, economic and even physical, others caution against it, and still others – including the JVP of 30 years ago, and countless nationalist outfits today – perceive it as an imperialist power. As Krishantha Cooray has put it in a recent op-ed, while India-Sri Lanka relations have been described as one of “irreversible excellence”, under certain administrations “they have been neither irreversible nor excellent.”
Not surprisingly, what gets lost in the discussion are the nuances, and the complexities. As Shelton Kodikara has correctly pointed out, since independence Sri Lanka Lanka India relations have never followed a predictable trajectory. One could say this is inevitable, given Sri Lanka’s position in the Indian Ocean and the ruptures in foreign policy that such geographic placements bring with them. However, despite this unpredictability, certain patterns can be discerned – longstanding issues, like the Katchatheevu dispute and the position of the Indian Tamil population – which have conditioned and determined the trajectory of bilateral ties, and continues to do so.
One need not be a pessimist, or even a cynic, to claim that these disputes may never get resolved. If the recent resolution on Katchatheevu, by the Tamil Nadu government, should tell us anything, it is that bilateral wrangles never go away. (This explains why SAARC has never fulfilled the historical role it was meant to play.) That is not to say that geography conditions everything and that nothing will change. Of course, things have changed, somewhat fundamentally: world order is shifting every day, the patterns of trade are being ruptured every hour, stock markets have come down, countries are struggling to stay afloat and band together. India and Sri Lanka will sooner or later have to come to terms with each other. The question is, given that we have very little time and weight to negotiate for better terms – for instance, with the US over the tariffs – what course can we chart?
Integration is often cited as a way forward. But facilitating closer integration without considering its domestic implications would be difficult. India itself views integration and free trade as a sine qua non of sorts for bilateral ties: at forums and discussions, and in diplomatic circles, it is invoked time and time again. But the disparities in resources and skills between the two countries, the perceptions of such agreements by locals, and the bad press that trade agreements have received at the hands of nationalist and chauvinist elements, will make this a difficult if not rocky road. It has not helped that the Indian government itself views free trade agreements and initiatives for integration as a means to a higher geopolitical end. What that end is, we do not know, but for nationalists in Sri Lanka, it can only mean near-total capitulation to Indian political interests.
While this may not be so in reality, the fact that after close to 50 years Sri Lankan nationalist parties and movements – just like the JVP decades ago – can disseminate narratives of Indian domination, shows how successful such narratives have been and how Delhi has failed to counter them. That India has neglected to address in any meaningful, constructive way the bilateral wrangles that have defined its ties with its tiny neighbour – including Katchatheevu – has not helped at all. If India and Sri Lanka are to move forward sensibly, both sides must acknowledge these issues and, even if they cannot be resolved completely, at least agree to disagree and leave it at that.
Time is not on our side. As the world gets ready for Trump’s tariffs, it waits with bated breath to see whether the international liberal order which, in the eyes of its advocates, delivered prosperity for all for more than half a century will crumble down. It is not difficult to bring down the status quo. But once brought down, it is difficult to restore it to what it once was. The next few months are crucial, and if India and Sri Lanka are to avoid the aftereffects of Trump’s actions, these two countries should define the way forward. The JVP is perhaps the best example we have for how a movement or party that saw India negatively can turn around and embrace a politics of pragmatism. When charting our way forward, there should certainly be safeguards in place, especially over security. But there should also be a gradual thawing of the fears that have, for too long, defined these ties.
Features
The Saudi Mirage: Peacekeepers or Power Brokers?

The transformation of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia from a puritanical theocracy to an aspiring architect of global peace is one of the most paradoxical and politically engineered evolutions of the modern era. Far from the deserts where Wahhabism first struck its austere roots, the Kingdom now positions itself as a mediator between global powers, a patron of modernity, and a crucible of cross-cultural aspiration. Yet beneath the glistening architecture of NEOM and the diplomatic smiles of peace summits lies a stratified narrative—one obscured by revisionist theatre and gilded silence.
Saudi Arabia’s foundation in 1932 under King Abdulaziz Ibn Saud was not merely a unification of tribal territories; it was a theological consolidation. The strategic pact with Muhammad ibn Abd al-Wahhab, brokered generations earlier, transformed Islam into an instrument of statecraft. As the CIA Handbook observed in 1972, “The Saudi Government is a monarchy based on a fusion of secular and religious authority, with the King at its apex.” The same report stated, “The royal family dominates both the political and economic life of the country,” a candid admission of dynastic monopolization. Governance was less institutional than charismatic, mediated through familial bonds, tribal allegiances, and theocratic endorsement.”
The Kingdom’s export of Wahhabism, particularly from the 1960s onward, became one of the most under-scrutinized forms of ideological colonization. Flushed with petrodollars after the 1973 oil embargo—an embargo that King Faisal declared in defence of Arab dignity, stating, “Our oil is our weapon, and we will use it to protect our Arab rights”—Saudi Arabia embarked on a global proselytisation project. Mosques, madrassas, and clerical scholarships were funded from Islamabad to Jakarta, Sarajevo to Khartoum, shaping generations in an image that often diametrically opposed indigenous Islamic traditions. A lesser-known revelation from a declassified 1981 US State Department cable noted: “Saudi financial support to Islamic institutions in Southeast Asia has significantly altered the religious landscape, prioritizing doctrinal rigidity over cultural synthesis.”
The domestic reality, too, remained draconian under the veneer of religiosity. The 1979 Grand Mosque seizure by a fundamentalist group paradoxically catalyzed a more regressive clampdown, as the royal family tightened its alliance with the religious establishment to legitimize its authority. It is telling that King Fahd, who in the 1980s declared, “We will build the future without abandoning our past,” presided over an era where ministries functioned as courtiers rather than administrators. As noted in a 1972 CIA internal report, “Much of the bureaucracy remains inefficient, with key decisions often bypassing formal channels and handled by royal intermediaries.”
The paradox deepens when juxtaposing Saudi Arabia’s financing of foreign conflicts with its self-portrayal as a stabilizer. The Kingdom, directly or through proxies, has been implicated in the fomentation of conflict zones including Afghanistan, Syria, Yemen, and Libya. In Yemen, particularly, its military intervention since 2015 has left an indelible humanitarian scar. UN estimates suggest over 375,000 deaths, mostly from indirect causes. Despite this, Riyadh now courts global opinion as a peace-broker, hosting summits that purport to end the very conflicts it helped perpetuate. This performative peacemaking is a diplomatic palimpsest, rewriting its culpability in real-time.
Yet perhaps nowhere is the ideological volte-face more pronounced than under the stewardship of Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman (MBS). A man who rose to prominence not through military conquest or scholarly erudition but via internal court calculus and the invocation of modernist necessity, MBS has become the emblem of Saudi Arabia’s Neo-nationalist re-branding. His statement in 2017 that, “We will not waste 30 years of our lives dealing with extremist ideologies. We will destroy them now and immediately” serves as both mea culpa and strategic distancing. It is a rhetorical exfoliation of the kingdom’s historical role in incubating the very ideologies it now condemns.
What makes this transformation most paradoxical is the simultaneous consolidation of autocracy. The same MBS who champions futuristic cities and cultural liberalization also orchestrated the arrest of dissenting clerics, feminists, and businessmen—a campaign sanitized by the euphemism of anti-corruption. The chilling assassination of journalist Jamal Khashoggi in 2018 inside the Saudi consulate in Istanbul became a gruesome watermark of the state’s coercive architecture. This contradiction was prophetically foreshadowed by King Faisal decades earlier, who once mused, “Injustice cannot be concealed, and one day it will speak.”
In the global diplomacy, Saudi Arabia is no longer content with petrodollar influence; it now seeks epistemic legitimacy. The launch of NEOM, a city touted as the world’s first cognitive metropolis, symbolizes this ambition—yet, emblematic of the new Saudi state, it is erected upon contested land and enforced silence. Beyond NEOM, the Kingdom’s financial outreach has extended to international media, sports, universities, and even Hollywood, buying not just partnerships but narratives. This is cultural laundering masquerading as soft power.
Saudi Arabia’s overtures toward mediating the Russia-Ukraine conflict, brokering rapprochement between Iran and Arab states, and its increasing engagement with China and Israel signify not merely regional aspiration, but a superpower mimicry. In February 2023, Riyadh hosted talks aimed at easing tensions in Sudan, while simultaneously continuing arms imports that fuel its own military-industrial complex. As a 2022 report by the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute noted, “Saudi Arabia remains one of the top five global arms importers, despite its increasing involvement in peace dialogues.”
This dualism is not new but now consciously choreographed. The kingdom no longer hides its contradictions; it flaunts them as strengths. It wishes to be judged not by the tenets of liberal democracy, but by a self-fashioned rubric of efficacy, vision, and global brokerage. And in this, it has found unlikely endorsements. Elon Musk, after touring Saudi ventures, declared them “an exciting vision for civilization”. Goldman Sachs and SoftBank speak of “unprecedented opportunities”. Even skeptics are drawn to the economic gravity Riyadh exerts.
But can a state undergo ontological transformation without historical accountability? Can it broker peace while archives of complicity remain sealed? The Kingdom’s diplomatic epistles, such as the declassified 1973 letter from the US President to King Faisal praising him as “a voice of wisdom and reason,” read today as documents of strategic appeasement, not genuine admiration. The phrase, “Your personal efforts to bring moderation and stability to the region are of great significance,” thinly veils the realpolitik that underpinned Western support for autocracy.
Indeed, what Saudi Arabia seeks now is not reinvention but redemption. It seeks to transmute petrodollar moral hazard into soft power prestige. In doing so, it exploits the cognitive dissonance of the global order: that authoritarianism, when efficient and well-funded, can be tolerated, even admired. And perhaps this is the Kingdom’s most radical export yet—a model where ideological elasticity replaces democratic legitimacy.
by Nilantha Ilangamuwa
Features
Political Women Leaders

As a knowing friend pronounced, the usual way we judge parity of sexes in politics is percentage presence in Parliament which is definitely not an accurate judgment bar. After the recent general election in our country the number of women MPs increased to 10%. I googled and found that currently 263 female MPs in the House of Commons makes for 40% female representation and in the House of Lords 238 female members. Across the Atlantic, as of January 2025, Congress has 26 women, 16 Democrats and 10 Republicans. Some 125 women sit in the House of Representatives making 28.7% of the total.
Lately to be seen is an increase in women at the pinnacle of power, in the political sphere, globally. I have made my choice of those who appealed to me and are recently in power.
I start in Sri Lanka and of course top of the list is Prime Minster Dr Harini Amarasuriya. We boast a woman Chief Justice, more than one Vice Chancellor and ambassadors in considered to be vital foreign postings. Tried to get a recent popularity rating for our PM, but found only that Verete Research gave a rating in February of 62% to the government. Thus her personal rating would be above this figure and most significantly rising, I am sure.
Harini Nireka Amarasuriya
(b March 6,1970), is listed as sociologist, academic, activist and politician who serves as our country’s 17th PM. She was engaged with academic associations and trade unions. Her personal victory in the elections was spectacular, receiving as she did the second highest ever majority of preferences obtained by a candidate in our general elections. She was nominated to Parliament as a national list member from the NPP in 2020.
Born in Galle to the prestigious Amarasuriya family of landowners and business managers, she is younger to two siblings. Schooling was at Bishop’s College and then, as an AFS Exchange Student, she spent a year in the US. Winning a scholarship she received her honours BA degree in sociology from the University of Delhi. On her return home she worked with tsunami affected children and five years later earned a Master of Arts in Applied and Development Anthropology from Macquarie University, Australia, and PhD in Social Anthropology from the University of Edinburgh (2011). She joined the teaching faculty as senior lecturer at the Open University. She completed research funded by the European Research Council in human rights and ethics in SL; and the influence of radical Christians on dissent in SL, funded by the Institute for Advanced Studies in the Humanities, University of Edinburgh.
She comes across as dignified and friendly with no airs about her at all. She is a true academic and intellectual, but with not a trace of condescension, she seems to be free and easy with the hoi polloi and her image is certainly is not put on, nor a veneer worn for political popularity. She feels for people, more so the disadvantaged. Her appeal to people was obvious in a meeting she had in Mannar (or Batticaloa) on April 12 where she spoke with (not to) the vast mixed-race crowd. Their happy faces showed appreciation, approval and belief in her.
We move overseas since other women in the island in positions of power are known.
Claudia Sheinbaum Pardo,
born June 24, 1962 to a chemist father and biologist mother, was elected in 2024 as the 66th President of Mexico – first woman over there to rise to the top. Forbes has ranked her the fourth most powerful woman in the world. She is an academic, scientist and politician. She came to world prominence after a letter she wrote to Prez Trump went viral. In it she reminded Trump that he builds walls to keep out Mexicans and other immigrants but he also keeps out millions of would-be consumers of American goods.
She received her Doctor of Philosophy in energy engineering from the National Autonomous University of Mexico. She has written articles and books on the environment, energy and sustainable development; and was on the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. In 2018, Claudia Sheinbaum was named one of BBCs 100 Women.
Her political career spanned being a mayor of a Borough from 2015 and elected head of the government of Mexico City in the 2018 election. She was elected President in 2024.”With her calm demeanor and academic background, she has quickly become one of the most talked about political figures worldwide.” She has impressed all Mexicans and much of the world population that she knows how to deal with Trump and now his tariffs, so much so her political style has been dubbed the ‘Sheinbaum method’ by Mexican media. She has strongly contested Trump’s substitution of Mexico by the name America in the name of the gulf that lies between the two countries and condemns Israel’s genocide in Gaza. It is known that Trump is wary of her; recognizes her strength and diplomatic finesses; and surprised there is a woman to reckon with.
She has national difficulties to cope with: disappearances, violence, the economy. “Through her social media presence, she offers a personal glimpse into her daily life, fostering a sense of connection with her followers.” One act she undertook to ease congestion on roads was to pave each large one with a lane for bicycles, gifted many and encouraged others to buy two wheelers.
Rachel Jane Reeves (b Feb 13, 1979) has been in the international news recently as she presented the budget for the Labour government in Britain and justified its policies. She is the second highest official in the UK government, positioned just below the prime minister, Keir Starmer, and even lives next to him in No 11, Downing Street, London. She is very young at 46 to hold the position of Chancellor of the Exchequer from June 2024. She held various shadow ministerial and cabinet portfolios since 2010.
Born in Lewisham to parents who were teachers, she and her sister were influenced in politics, particularly democratic politics, by their father. Her parents divorced when she was seven. Reeves attended Cator Park School for Girls in Beckonham and studied politics, philosophy and economics at the University of Oxford, and got her BA in 2000. Three years later, she obtained a master’s degree in economics from the LSE.
She joined the Labour Part at age 16, and we suppose no one called it precocious! Later she worked in the Bank of England. After two unsuccessful attempts at winning a general election, she was elected to the House of Commons as MP for Leeds West at the 2010 general election. She endorsed Ed Miliband in the 2010 Labour Leadership election in 2010 and was selected to be shadow Pensions Minister. Re-elected again in 2015, she left the shadow cabinet and returned to the backbenches, but served in various committees. In 2020, under Keir Starmer, she was elected to his shadow cabinet as chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster. She was promoted to be shadow Chancellor of the Exchequer in a shadow cabinet reshuffle in 2021. Labour won the general election in 2024 and thus she shed the shadow part in her official title, becoming the first woman to hold that prestigious position in the 800 year history of Britain. Also remarkable is that she is so comparatively young to hold such a high post,
I remember listening to BBC which gave news she did not sail through the budget she presented, nor thereafter, at its debating. “Reeves established the National Wealth Fund, scrapped certain winter fuel payments, cancelled several infrastructure projects and announced numerous public sector pay rises. In her October 2024 budget she introduced the largest tax rises since 1993, which is forecast to set the tax burden to its highest level in recorded history.” Her Prime Minister stands by her.
We move to the international arena for my fourth recent internationally powerful woman. She was elected 10th President of the International Olympic Committee in March 2025. Thus the first woman and African to be so honoured. I think it is an accepted fact that if a woman is elected/selected to hold the highest position wherever, she has to be extra smart; extra noteworthy. Competition from men is strong and unfairly slanted too.
Kirsty Leigh Coventry Seward,
born September 16, 1983, is a Zimbabwean politician, sports administrator and former competitive swimmer and holder of world records. She is also the most decorated Olympian from Africa. She was in the Cabinet of Zimbabwe from 2018 to March 2025 as Minister of Youth, Sport, Arts and Recreation.
Kirsty Coventry was born in Harare and introduced to swimming by her mother and grandfather at age two. She joined a swimming club at age six. She was an all-round sports woman, but after a knee injury while playing hockey, she decided to concentrate on swimming. Watching an early Olympic Games on TV she vowed to win golds in swimming.
As a high school-goer she was selected when 16-years old to participate in the Olympic Games in Sydney in 2000. Won no medals; her greatest joy was seeing Cassius Clay. She attended and swam for Auburn University in Alabama, USA. Her breakthrough was in Athens in 2004 when she won three medals; in Beijing – 2008 – four. Honours were showered on her on her triumphant return to Harare: the Head of the country’s Olympic Committee dubbed her ‘Our national treasure ‘ and President Robert Mugabe called her ‘A golden girl’ and gifted her US$100,000. Success followed in the London and Rio de Janeiro Olympic Games in 2012 and 2016. Retiring from competitive swimming she moved to administration and was elected Chairperson of the IOC Athletes’ Commission, the body representing all Olympic athletes. Next as a committee member of the IOC and now, its President.
Two women of Christ’s time
We are in the Easter Weekend. Our thoughts are with our Christian friends. My mind goes back to Scripture classes in the Methodist Missionary School I attended. Two women were the most important persons in Jesus Christ’s life: his mother Mary and a good friend – Mary Magdalene – whose brother Lazarus he raised from the dead. These two simple, yet wonderful women kept vigil as he suffered on the cross. One disciple had betrayed him; another denied him, others of the 12 were not present. These two Marys suffered with him. On the Sunday following, Mary Magdalene rushed to where he had been entombed. She found the boulder at its entrance pushed aside. And then the resurrected Jesus appeared unto her.
-
Business1 day ago
DIMO pioneers major fleet expansion with Tata SIGNA Prime Movers for ILM
-
Business6 days ago
IMF staff team concludes visit to Sri Lanka
-
Features3 days ago
Nipping the two leaves and the bud
-
Latest News7 days ago
PNB detect large haul of methamphetamine and heroin in local fishing trawler intercepted by Navy
-
Features3 days ago
Avurudu celebrations … galore
-
Latest News6 days ago
Sun directly overhead Delft, Pooneryn, Elephant pass and Chundikulam at about 12:10 noon today (14th)
-
Latest News6 days ago
Let us collectively support the government’s vision for economic, social, and political transformations – President
-
Latest News5 days ago
Trump freezes $2bn in Harvard funding after university rejects demands