Features

Moving up the Colonial civil services ladder in the Caribbean and Africa

Published

4 years ago

2022/10/30

Thilina Walpola

by Sir. Henry Monck-Mason Moore
Last British Governor of then Ceylon

The writer outlines his career prior to his return to Ceylon

Towards the end of 1921 1 went on leave when I met Miss Benson again in London and we became engaged. She was at the time a very brilliant student at the Royal Academy schools to which she had gone after working in the Slade School. Her marriage to me in December of that year put an end to what might have been a great career as a painter. Since my retirement she had done some serious painting again.

We had to cut our honeymoon short, as I was unexpectedly offered the post of Colonial Secretary, Bermuda. It represented promotion only in status, as the salary attached was less than I was drawing in Ceylon, no official house was provided and no passage allowance. After some 18 months I applied for a transfer, regardless of status, to an appointment in some other Colony where we could live on our pay, and in 1924 I was offered the post of Principal Assistant Secretary, Nigeria, which I accepted.

Though ruinously expensive, our time in Bermuda had its compensations. Prohibition had not been rescinded in America, and three ships a week from New York brought shiploads of its thirsty citizens to the hotels and bars of this popular tourist resort. Among them we met many charming people, though it was impossible to return their hospitality in the sort of boarding house in which we were reduced to live. The old Bermudian families lived in a select social circle of their own. Many of them let their charming old colonial type houses for the American season at highly inflated rentals on which they were able to live in great comfort for the rest of the year.

The Chief Justice, the Colonial Secretary and the Chief of Police were the only three imported officials, and it was difficult, if not impossible to get the House of Assembly to improve their conditions of service. The executive had no representation in the lower house – even the Attorney-General, a Bermudian and member of the Executive Council, had to secure a seat in some constituency, before he could sit and introduce Government bills.

The Legislative Council, the upper house, consisted of the Chief Justice as President, the Colonial Secretary and Receiver-General (Treasury and Customs) as official members with two unofficial members who had won their spurs in the lower house. The Governor was always a soldier and commander of the local garrison. He presided over the Executive Council, but took no part in the debates of either house, his proposals being forwarded to the Legislature by way of “message,” and had no powers, other than those of persuasion, of securing his policy being adopted. Any idea of Colonial Office control was bitterly resented and the Assembly has succeeded in maintaining its virtual independence up to the present day.

For me it was a novel and somewhat exasperating experience to have to plunge so abruptly into the whirlpool of local politics in an island where, because of its very smallness, party feelings were easily aroused and personal rivalries were rampant. In retrospect it was no doubt a useful experience for the more controversial political crises in which I was destined to be involved in Kenya and still later in Ceylon.

In Bermuda the franchise was dependent on a property qualification which was jealously guarded by the old Bermudian families. As a result there was in my time only one coloured member of the House of Assembly, and socially the colour bar was complete. Immigration from the West Indies was closely controlled, and the Bermudian Negroes, mostly descendants of emancipated slaves, were generally employed as domestic servants, carriage drivers – no motor cars were allowed in the island – and dock labourers. The growing of fresh vegetables and the Bermuda Lily was in the hands of specially imported Portuguese, who were skilled market gardeners. The colour question, therefore, in my day had not assumed serious proportions.

Nigeria

In 1924, I accepted the post of Principal Assistant Secretary in the Lagos Secretariat, Nigeria, having refused the appointment of Colonial Secretary, Bahamas, where I knew the conditions were much the same as in Bermuda and the cost of living equally expensive. On arrival, as I have already recorded, I found Sir Hugh Clifford was Governor and Sir Donald Cameron Chief Secretary. When Northern and Southern Nigeria were united in a single administration by Lord Lugard, Sir Donald had been responsible for much of the detailed work behind the scene. He was primarily an office man with Southern Nigerian experience and was not persona grata to the Lieutenant-Governors of the North.

Whether for this or for reasons of economy he was not given the status or salary which his duties and responsibilities deserved. Sir Hugh Clifford on his arrival immediately set up a well-staffed and organized Central Secretariat in Lagos, made Sir Donald Chief Secretary, and gave him equivalent status and salary with the Lieutenant-Governors of Northern and Southern Nigeria. As a result Sir Hugh and Sir Donald worked together in great harmony, and were a formidable team.

Sir Donald absorbed much of Sir Hugh’s administrative experience, but at the same time brought his acid intelligence to bear on Sir Hugh’s more exuberant proposals. Before long Sir Donald was promoted to the Governorship of Tanganyika, and was, succeeded by Sir F. M. Baddeley from Malaya.On the announcement that the Prince of Wales was to visit Nigeria and the West Coast Colonies en route to Cape Town, Sir Hugh entered enthusiastically into the preparation of somewhat grandiose plans for his reception. A reception committee was set up of which I became the secretary, while Lady Clifford, who was in London, kept in touch with the Prince’s staff, at St. James’ Palace.

In the midst of all these preparations Sir Hugh had something in the nature of a nervous breakdown and for six weeks retired up country for a rest to await the arrival of Lady Clifford. At the last moment, owing to an outbreak of smallpox in Lagos, the visit was almost abandoned altogether, but eventually this difficulty was overcome by re-arranging the itinerary so that the visit to Lagos was made after the quarantine period had expired.

As a result Sir Hugh alternated between periods of deep depression and high exaltation, and it was on the latter note that eventually he accompanied the Prince throughout his visit. A contributory factor was that he knew by this time that he was to become Governor of Ceylon, a stepping-stone to the Governorship of Malaya, which had been his life long ambition.During the last few weeks, between the departure of the Prince of Wales and Sir Hugh’s own departure on leave prior to taking up the Ceylon appointment, his behaviour became suggestive of some form of mental instability, and it was reported by some of his friends to the medical authorities that they were apprehensive that he was suffering from delusions.

What steps, if any, were taken to report this to the Colonial Office officially I do not know. In view of the tragic end to his brilliant career when Governor of Malaya, one is left wondering whether this could have been in any way avoided.In 1927 I was promoted to Deputy Chief Secretary in succession to Sir Shenton Thomas, who was appointed Colonial Secretary in the Gold Coast from which he went later to Singapore as Governor and became a Japanese prisoner of war on the fall of Singapore. By that time Sir Graeme Thomson had succeeded Sir Hugh Clifford as Governor of Nigeria, and my wife and I were naturally delighted at again serving under him and Lady Thomson, whom we had known so well in Ceylon.

They had had, I believe, a difficult time in British Guiana, where Sir Graeme had introduced some constitutional reforms in the teeth of much local unofficial opposition. As a result he seemed to have lost some of his early vigour, though he early initiated a new housing scheme for Government servants, which was long overdue. He appointed two committees for Northern and Southern Nigeria and I was fortunate in being appointed Secretary to both. He also took the revolutionary step in those days of appointing a woman member to each. This was a wise move as by that time more and more wives were coming out to join their husbands during their tours of service, which had been prohibited or greatly restricted in the past.

As a result my wife and I had the opportunity of making, extensive tours in the two provinces and seeing something of out-station life, which was a welcome change from the somewhat suburban atmosphere of Lagos. Later Sir Graeme fell seriously ill with an internal haemorrhage, and when I left in 1929 to take up the appointment of Colonial Secretary, Kenya, he was lying in bed in Government House on the danger list. He subsequently recovered but I don’t think he was ever quite the same man again.

Kenya

In 1929 we arrived in Nairobi to find the Governor Sir Edward Grigg in London and my predecessor Sir Edward Denham on leave preparatory to taking up the appointment of Governor of Jamaica. So the Chief Justice, Sir Jacob Bath, was acting as Governor and continued to do so till the return of Sir Edward Grigg. Kenya was in the throes of much political agitation owing to the demand of the Indians to be put on a common roll with the European elected members instead of an Indian communal roll. At the same time the European elected members were pressing for closer union between the territories of Kenya, Uganda, and Tanganyika.

Mr. Amery, the Secretary of State for the Colonies in the Conservative Government, was a strong advocate of such a policy, and had privately instructed Sir Edward Grigg to prepare the ground for it. With the support of Lord Delamere, the leader of the Settlers, an imposing new Government House, designed by Sir Herbert Baker, had been built on lines suitable for the accommodation of a Governor-General of the three territories.

Neither Uganda nor Tanganyika were enthusiastic over this proposal, as they were apprehensive of domination by White Settler opinion. The controversy was referred to London where an Inter-Parliamentary Committee advised against any immediate action without, closing the door to its further consideration in the future. By this time the world economic depression was threatening and Lord Delamere himself realized that the scheme must be put into cold storage till economic conditions were more favourable. With the advent of Lord Passfield as Secretary for the Colonies under the Labour Government, a White Paper was issued which gave the agitation its quietus.

The Indians at first boycotted both the Municipal and Legislative Council elections but eventually accepted a communal role, which enabled them to take their part in municipal and legislative activities. It was in this super-charged atmosphere that I found myself, as, Colonial Secretary, Leader of the Official majority in the Legislative Council, in which I made my first appearance with some trepidation, as neither in Bermuda nor Nigeria did I have any experience of the rough and tumble of parliamentary debate.

Eventually I found my feet and was able to establish friendly relations with all sides of the House despite verbal encounters in the debating chamber. But by this time constitutional controversies were temporarily forgotten in the attempt to grapple with the serious financial position of the Colony owing to the world depression.It was at this time that I first met General Smuts when I sat next to him at a dinner given in his honour on his way to attend the World Economic Conference. Speaking from a few notes scribbled on the back of his menu card, he adroitly side-stepped any local controversial issues and won general applause for his statesmanlike and noncommittal appreciation of the situation. I little thought that I was later to be brought into so much closer association with him during World War II.

Owing to the collapse of world prices the European farmers were in serious straits with the banks calling in mortgages and declining to make advances to meet current expenditure. Some relief was afforded by the Government’s establishment of a Land Bank, and by the discovery of alluvial gold in the Kakamega area; many farmers left their wives to run the farms and went to pan gold themselves. But no substantial gold mining materialized, and this proved only a temporary expedient.

By this time Sir Edward Grigg’s term of office was expiring, and I acted as Governor till the arrival of his successor, Sir Joseph Byrne. His relations with Lord Delamere were strained from the first, and the situation was not made easier by the fact that, although a levy on salaries had been imposed on all Government officers and Government expenditure reduced to a minimum, the financial position of the Colony was still very bad.

Accordingly Lord Moyne was sent out by the Secretary of State to report on the situation. His original term of reference was to review the revenue position and its allocation between European, Indian and native services. The natives paid hut and poll tax but non-natives paid no direct taxation other than certain charges for schools and hospitals. Lord Moyne was later instructed to make recommendations for balancing the Budget and recommended the introduction of income tax for all non-natives.

This gave rise to one of the most heated controversies in Kenya’s history. After the Bill had passed its Second Reading by use of the Official majority, Lord Francis Scott and Col Grogan flew to London to see the Secretary of State, Sir Philip Cunliffe Lister, to gain support to alternative proposals proposed by the European elected members.

They were able to induce the Secretary of State to give their proposals a trial, and the Income Tax Bill was dropped. In the event, as the local government had foreseen, some of their proposals proved unworkable and the remainder failed miserably to produce the revenue required. Eventually, after long delay, agreement was reached to the introduction of Income Tax as an emergency measure. It is still on the statute book !

On Lord Delamere’s death, Lord Francis Scott had become leader of the European elected members. As explained above he had in London secured the last minute approval of the Secretary of State to the shelving of the Income Tax Bill. This was hailed with delight as a defeat of the local government. At this awkward moment Sir Joseph Byrne had to go on leave for health reasons and I was left to carry the baby.It was a highly controversial period and later, after Sir Joseph’s return, Cunliffe-Lister flew out himself to visit Kakamega and meet a deputation of the elected members. Unfortunately he was taken seriously ill and lay for days in Government House before he was out of danger. His visit, therefore, did little to remove the tension, particularly as he was unwilling to provide the financial aid on the lines recommended by the elected members.

By 1934 when I left to become Governor of Sierra Leone, Kenya was slowly emerging from the depression. I was first offered the Governorship of British Guiana. But this I refused on the advice once given to me by Sir Graeme Thomson. He had accepted it himself with enthusiasm as he had had high hopes of developing its largely unexplored interior. But he left it disillusioned, and as my experience in Bermuda, though not in the West Indies, had given me some insight into West Indian conditions, I remembered his advice and declined. Soon after Sierra Leone fell vacant, of which Sir Joseph Byrne had previously been Governor. He advised me to accept, which I did.

It was a difficult choice, as it involved leaving our two young daughters in England. For my wife it meant breaking up our home again, and repeating the experience in Nigeria of spending part of the time with me and part with the children. It is the hard price that the Colonial Servant has to pay, but it is the wife who has to pay the hardest price.

In the event unexpected relief came in 1937 by my appointment as an Under Secretary of State in the Colonial Office. Mr. Ormsby-Gore, later Lord Harlech, initiated the idea of bringing in temporarily a junior Governor into the higher echelons of the Home Civil Service instead of bringing in junior officers – known as “Beachcombers” – to work in the lower ranks. It represented a very considerable financial loss and in our case was only rendered possible by the generosity of my wife’s parents.

During my comparatively brief period in Sierra Leone I was able to lay the foundations of a closer administration of the Protectorate, which was somewhat haphazardly administered through a host of minor chiefs. I sent Mr. Fenton – a most efficient officer – to study the local native administration being set up, particularly among the Ondos in southern Nigeria. He prepared a most useful report and its recommendations were being implemented when I left.

In the past most emphasis had been laid on Freetown itself, where the educated “creoles” – descendants of the original ex slave settlements – held a monopoly of clerical appointments and trading interests in the West Coast. With the spread of education in the Gold Coast and Nigeria local men were taking their place, while the Syrian traders were successfully ousting them. White collared unemployment was becoming a problem in Freetown, and the interests of the Protectorate natives were of secondary importance to the unofficial members of the Legislative Council.

The development of iron ore at Marampa and the discovery of diamonds and some alluvial gold had revolutionary results, as it became clear that on the development of the mineral resources of the Protectorate depended the prosperity of Sierra Leone, rather, than on the precarious export of palm kernels and palm oil. I also with the aid of the Colonial Development Fund had a circular road driven round the Peninsula which proved to be of great value during the war.

Representatives of the Army, Navy and Air Force, arrived to study sites for aerodromes, flying boat bases, and battery extensions and boom-harbour defences, but little progress had been made by the time I left. I appointed Mr. Beoku Betts, the first Creole to become a member of the local legal department. He became, I believe, a good Government servant despite his having previously graced the Opposition benches in the Legislative Council.

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Features

Preventing grievances from becoming communal

Published

13 hours ago

2026/10/6

Sahan Weerasooriya

Police removing the Thileepan statue

by Jehan Perera

The death sentence on Sivarasa Anojan, a Sri Lankan citizen convicted of blasphemy in Saudi Arabia has taken a central place in national consciousness for the past several weeks. It has been in the headline news since it was first reported last month. There have been many initiatives taken locally to get a more lenient sentencing by the Saudi authorities. There is also an undercurrent that is critical of both the culture and religion from which this sentencing emanates. This also sustains the widespread publicity being given nationally to the issue. By way of contrast, the controversy caused by the forcible removal of the Thileepan statue in Jaffna has not significantly impacted upon the national consciousness. There was only passing mention of the incident in the national media which has been overtaken by other events.

However, in the north and east of the country, and in the diaspora, the removal of the Thileepan statue has become a major issue. It has led to protest marches led by university students and widespread condemnation by civil society and political groups. The issues underlying the Thileepan statue have deep undercurrents in the Tamil consciousness particularly in the north and east which time is unlikely to dispel. The real test of harmony in a multi-ethnic, multi-religious society like Sri Lanka is not whether communities coexist peacefully when nothing controversial is at stake. Rather, the test is how they respond when an event touches their identities and grievances. The death sentence imposed on Anojan in Saudi Arabia and the removal of the Thileepan statue in Jaffna carry the risk of becoming grievances to entire communities.

In the case of Anojan, a young Tamil migrant worker, he was first sentenced to five years imprisonment and a fine of three million Saudi riyals over a Facebook comment. Both he and the Saudi prosecution appealed, with the appeal court raising the sentence to death. This has led to public sympathy for him in Sri Lanka.

Appeals for clemency have come from the President, government and opposition leaders, clergy of all faiths and Muslim political leaders. At the same time there is a need to reject attempts to turn the case into a source of anti-Muslim sentiment or collective blame. Peacebuilding therefore has to be within Sri Lanka as well as diplomatic. Religious leaders and civil society in the country should be ready to quell rumour, even as Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu and Christian leaders stand together publicly.

Thileepan Statue

The Thileepan controversy has had a different trajectory. Many Tamils admire Thileepan, the LTTE name of Rasaiah Parthipan, who died on 26 September 1987 after a twelve-day fast. His demands were addressed to India but included matters pertaining to the Sri Lankan government including the release of detainees held under the Prevention of Terrorism Act. The statue put up during this year’s commemoration was removed by police in the early hours of 27 September, a day after the commemoration ended. The government’s legal concern, as articulated by its spokesperson, was the LTTE remains a proscribed organisation and before removing the statue, police had presented facts to the court. But law and memory answer different questions and the depth of Tamil anguish cannot be disregarded.

For many Tamils, remembrance of Thileepan is connected to their sense of loss and historical memory. The memorial has been destroyed and rebuilt more than once, and each destruction has added to the meaning it carries. Many who mourn Thileepan are grieving a young man who died without violence and by his own fast. They also grieve an era of loss of the struggle for Tamil rights and self-determination for which Thileepan has become a symbol. The Office for Reparations Act, No. 34 of 2018, provides for collective reparations and gives the Office for Reparations a role in policies on memorialisation. This does not automatically permit any particular statue, nor does it override laws on public places or proscribed organisations. But it shows that memorialisation is recognised within Sri Lanka’s framework for reparations and reconciliation. There is also a wider question of equality.

The JVP that now leads the NPP government was itself once proscribed when it took up arms against the state in which tens of thousands died, later entered democratic politics, and now for many years has publicly commemorated its own fallen. The opportunity to remember those who died should not belong to one community alone.

A commitment to peacebuilding requires that the same trust that has been given to former militants of one community needs to be given to members of other communities if equal citizenship and equal rights are to have meaning. Further, the Office for Reparations Act provides for reparations through livelihood. It is today a fact that those former LTTE members who went through the government’s rehabilitation process find it difficult to get jobs in the private sector.

Private sector employers are reluctant to come under surveillance for employing former LTTE members. There needs to be equal access to employment and removal of unjustified barriers to reintegration, with targeted public programmes where necessary. Until this situation is realized on the ground, the government needs to consider employing those who went through the government’s rehabilitation process and still unable to find suitable employment.

Continuing Peace

The challenge that post-war Sri Lanka faces, a full 17 years after the end of war, is to strengthen the foundations of trust between communities rather than deepen existing suspicions. Anojan is an individual Sri Lankan citizen facing a severe sentence in another country. His case should not become a reason to blame Sri Lankan Muslims. Thileepan is remembered differently by different communities, but the dispute over his memorial should not become a reason to revive the communal divisions of the past. The cases are also mirror images in an important respect. In the Anojan case, the state is an advocate pleading before another government. In the Thileepan case, the state is the actor whose decision is being judged. The first calls for quiet diplomacy and restraint in public language. The second calls for fairness and explanation, and the burden on the state is heavier.

The common roots of the two cases lie in mistrust that does not belong to one community alone. It has been produced by experiences of discrimination, violence, insecurity and loss that have been interpreted differently by different communities. Grievances turn communal when an individual is seen as a representative of a community, when institutions seem to treat communities unequally, and when people feel their pain goes unacknowledged. Each of these can be addressed. The system change that the Sri Lankan people voted for in 2024 would need to include a government that rejects collective blame, acknowledges grief and explains its decisions openly. It also requires state institutions to act transparently and consistently, so that no citizen feels that the law protects some communities more than others.

This peacebuilding imperative requires enlightened leadership as much as legal authority. It requires leaders who will speak to their own communities against prejudice, even when this is politically inconvenient. It requires religious leaders who will demonstrate solidarity across religious boundaries. And it requires civil society to recognise that peacebuilding is not simply preventing violence after tensions have risen, but is addressing the mistrust and grievances that allow tensions to rise in the first place. Sri Lanka has learned, at great cost, that communal divisions can become much larger than the events that initially give rise to them. The Anojan and Thileepan cases give Sri Lanka an opportunity to demonstrate that it has learned from its past. The test of Sri Lanka’s continuing peace is whether we can address difficult grievances without turning them into communal ones.

Features

Sri Lanka Cricket Bill: Governance reform is not yet a cricket strategy – Part II

Published

13 hours ago

2026/10/6

Sahan Weerasooriya

By Sarath S. Kodithuwakku

President, Institute of Management of Sri Lanka; Senior Professor, University of Peradeniya

(Continued from yesterday)

Representation, Independence and Decision-Making

The membership-based electoral structure should provide representation without becoming a substitute for executive management. The seven Elected Directors would bring the perspectives of the SLC membership into the Board, while the seven Independent Directors would provide additional professional expertise and independence. The model’s effectiveness will, therefore, depend on whether the Board can integrate these perspectives into coherent strategic decisions while maintaining a clear boundary between governance and day-to-day management.

The equal division between Elected and Independent Directors also raises a governance-design question. An even-numbered Board can create a tie. The Bill addresses this directly: in the event of equality, the Chairperson has a casting vote; in the Chairperson’s absence, the Deputy Chairperson has a casting vote; and if both are absent, an Independent Director, elected to preside, has the casting vote. The issue is, therefore, not whether a tie can be resolved, but how this mechanism affects the balance between representation, independence and accountability.

The leadership structure reinforces this balance: the Chairperson is elected from among the Independent Directors and the Deputy Chairperson from among the Elected Directors. The casting-vote arrangement makes the Chairperson’s role and perceived independence particularly important, especially when a major strategic decision divides the two components of the Board.

The Bill’s committee provisions could support a disciplined model of delegation, but implementation will depend heavily on the terms of reference adopted by the new Board. The framework could be strengthened by requiring a published cricket-development strategy, a clear division of powers among the Board, executives and selection committees, transparent principles for major development allocations, and periodic reporting on outcomes across men’s, women’s, schools and domestic cricket. These measures would strengthen accountability without legislating the details of team selection or tournament scheduling.

From Measurement to Strategic Accountability

If the Board is to hold management accountable for strategy rather than simply for short-term results, it needs a performance framework that captures both outcomes and the capabilities that produce them.

SLC should consider requiring an explicit multi-year cricket-development strategy, supported by measurable objectives and an annual strategy review. Such a strategy should identify the development pathway from schools and grassroots cricket through domestic competitions to high performance; define major capability priorities such as coaching, sports science, data and analytics; set resource-allocation principles; and establish indicators against which progress can be assessed.

The purpose would not be to turn cricket into a bureaucratic exercise. Strategic accountability simply creates a disciplined basis for asking whether the organisation is doing what it said it would do, whether its assumptions remain valid, and whether resources are producing the intended results.

From Measurement to Organisational Learning

SLC should, therefore, consider adopting a formal Balanced Scorecard. Rather than measuring success solely through international match results or annual financial audits, the framework could track four interdependent perspectives:

Financial Sustainability:

commercial growth, financial discipline and compliance.

Internal Processes:

domestic tournament quality, development pathways and selector-process integrity.

Stakeholder Value:

grassroots development, school cricket and women’s cricket expansion.

Strategic Capability:

coaching quality, sports science, talent development, data and analytics capability, and the organisation’s ability to convert investment into sustainable performance.

The purpose of such a framework would not be to reduce cricket development to a collection of numbers. Rather, it would create a disciplined process for asking four fundamental management questions:

What did we expect to achieve?

What actually happened?

Why was there a difference?

What should we change as a result?

Evaluating these dimensions periodically would help SLC move beyond performance reporting towards genuine organisational learning.

ICC as a Stakeholder in Governance Reform

The ICC is another important stakeholder whose interests should be recognised in the reform process. SLC’s governance arrangements do not operate solely within Sri Lankan law; they also have to be compatible with the governance obligations associated with ICC membership. The ICC’s Articles of Association require each Member to provide for free and democratic elections (or nominees from outside its members) and to manage its affairs autonomously, without government or other public-body interference in the governance, regulation or administration of cricket.

International experience demonstrates that ICC engagement in member governance restructuring is not unusual. In the United States, after the ICC expelled the old national association for chronic governance failures, the ICC directly oversaw a multi-year project to design a new governance model. The ICC Board formally approved the constitution for a replacement body (USA Cricket) before it was adopted. The resulting structure combined elected constituent directors with independent directors, showing that an ICC-backed framework can accommodate both forms of representation.

In Nepal, the ICC established a Nepal Advisory Group comprising stakeholders from across the game to recommend constitutional amendments, with adoption of the revised constitution and subsequent elections forming part of the conditions for reinstatement of ICC membership.[8] The ICC subsequently facilitated an independent panel that included ICC nominees together with representatives of Nepal’s National Sports Council and the existing cricket administration to map the election process, guidelines and timelines.[9] More recently, in 2026, an ICC delegation visited Bangladesh to engage with stakeholders on governance and electoral matters.[10] The ICC has also reported that its Deputy Chair and another ICC Board representative visited Sri Lanka and met relevant stakeholders to assess ongoing developments, while the ICC Board reiterated the need for elections to be held as soon as possible.

These precedents make the ICC a legitimate stakeholder in considering the governance implications of the proposed Bill. This does not mean that the ICC should determine Sri Lanka’s domestic legislation, nor that every feature of the Bill requires prior ICC approval. It does, however, suggest that early and formal engagement with the ICC would be prudent, particularly where the proposed arrangements concern Board independence, elections, government involvement and the transition to the new governance structure.

This is particularly relevant because the Bill creates two institutional arrangements that deserve careful scrutiny from an autonomy perspective. The Transformation Committee is responsible for managing the transition until the First Board is constituted, while the Nomination Committee, although structurally independent of the SLC Board, includes representatives connected with the Sports Ministry and the National Sports Council. Neither arrangement, by itself, establishes government interference. However, taken together, they make it important that the independence of the incoming Board is demonstrable through transparent procedures rather than assumed from the structure alone.

Given the professional calibre and international exposure of the members of the Transformation Committee, it would be reasonable to expect that the importance of ICC engagement would have been recognised. Although any such consultation has not been evident in the public domain, it is therefore reasonable to expect that the ICC has either already been consulted or will be consulted before the Bill is enacted. Such engagement would allow potential incompatibilities to be identified before the new structure is enacted and implemented, rather than after the fact.

The Transition Is Itself a Governance Challenge

The transition provisions introduce a significant organisational-change challenge. Replacing the existing club- and association-based governance structure with a new hybrid Board and governance architecture is not simply a legal exercise; it is an organisational change programme. The Sri Lanka Cricket Transformation Committee is required to manage the transition until the First Board is constituted and, during that period, to establish rules covering matters including tournament structure, domestic governance, selection committee appointments, committee terms of reference, the Nomination Committee process and the election of the Elected Directors.

Structural reform on paper can encounter resistance from established interests, institutional habits and existing routines. The implementation phase will therefore require a clear change-management framework, including stakeholder engagement, transparent onboarding for Independent Directors, clarification of decision rights, alignment of legacy committees, and careful transfer of information and responsibilities.

Without attention to these organisational factors, cultural friction could undermine the intended administrative improvements. The success of the reform will therefore depend not only on the text of the legislation but also on the quality of the rules, appointments, delegation arrangements and organisational behaviours that follow it.

From Governance Reform to a Cricket Strategy

The Bill deserves credit for addressing how SLC is constituted and for creating places for specialist advice. It should not be dismissed simply because it does not prescribe a batting order or a domestic fixture list. Those are not appropriate tasks for legislation.

Its limitation is more precise: the proposed governance arrangements do not, by themselves, assure the strategic capability of the Board or the quality, independence and accountability of the decisions made beneath it. They establish the architecture. The future Board and management must supply the strategy, capabilities, discipline and learning mechanisms that make the architecture work.

A stronger reform would connect four elements: a Board selected for collective strategic capability; professional cricket management with clear delegated authority; transparent but non-mechanical selection and investment processes; and systematic evaluation of development outcomes. Within the first of these, information technology and computer science should be recognised as distinct from the broader capability to understand and govern data science, analytics and emerging AI-enabled decision support.

Ultimately, the governing question is not only who gets a seat at the SLC Board table. It is whether that Board can build, fund, execute and learn from a credible strategy for Sri Lankan cricket.

References

1. Department of Government Printing, Sri Lanka. Sri Lanka Cricket Bill, Gazette Supplement, Part II of September 25, 2026, issued on 28 September 2026.

2. International Cricket Council. Media release, 15 July 2026, reporting the ICC Board discussion of Sri Lanka Cricket and the need for elections to be held as soon as possible.

3. Sport New Zealand – Ihi Aotearoa. Nine Steps to Effective Governance, particularly Step 1: Define and Agree the Board’s Role; Step 4: Provide Strategic Leadership; Step 5: Employ and Support a Chief Executive; and Step 8: Get the Right People on Board.

4. Cricket South Africa. Governance and management frameworks, including the delegation-of-authority framework, Board committees, Cricket Committee, Cricket Pipeline Committee and CEO accountability.

5. International Cricket Council. ICC Articles of Association, provisions requiring free and democratic elections and autonomous administration without government or other public-body interference. ICC. https://images.icc-cricket.com/image/upload/prd/f7vm88yw1933dc38cgtg.pdf

6. International Cricket Council. “ICC outlines proposed USACA constitution.” ICC, 2017. https://www.icc-cricket.com/news/icc-outlines-proposed-usaca-constitution

7. International Cricket Council. “Approved constitution marks historic landmark for cricket in USA.” ICC, 2017. https://www.icc-cricket.com/media-releases/approved-constitution-marks-historic-landmark-for-cricket-in-usa

8. International Cricket Council. “ICC welcomes Nepal Special General Meeting to adopt revised constitution.” ICC, 2018. https://www.icc-cricket.com/media-releases/icc-welcomes-nepal-special-general-meeting-to-adopt-revised-constitution

9. International Cricket Council. “Independent Panel meet to progress Nepal elections under revised constitution.” ICC, 2018. https://www.icc-cricket.com/media-releases/independent-panel-meet-to-progress-nepal-elections-under-revised-constitution

10. International Cricket Council. “ICC delegation visits Bangladesh to engage with stakeholders on governance and electoral matters.” ICC, 2026. https://www.icc-cricket.com/media-releases/icc-delegation-visits-bangladesh-to-engage-with-stakeholders-on-governance-and-electoral-matters

11. International Cricket Council. “ICC Board approves governance, membership and member support decisions.” ICC, 2026; see also “ICC Board Meeting,” 2026, reporting ICC representatives’ meetings with stakeholders in Sri Lanka. https://www.icc-cricket.com/media-releases/icc-board-approves-governance-membership-and-member-support-decisions

(Concluded)

Features

Why do they keep crossing? Africa, Europe and long history behind migration

Published

13 hours ago

2026/10/6

Sahan Weerasooriya

A file photo: In the early hours of 30 July 2026, thousands of people attempted to enter Ceuta, the Spanish territory on the northern coast of Africa.

by Viran Maddumage

Assistant Lecturer & PhD (Reading) Macquarie University Australia

Sanduni Rathnayake

Lecturer (Probationary) General Sir John Kotelawala Defence University

The Mediterranean is not merely a border between two continents. It is also a reminder of a relationship between Africa and Europe that was built over centuries; and whose consequences have not disappeared.

There are some borders that people cross with passports. Others are crossed by people who have run out of alternatives.

In the early hours of 30 July, 2026, thousands of people attempted to enter Ceuta, the Spanish territory on the northern coast of Africa. Spanish authorities reported that between 50,000 and 60,000 people entered the enclave irregularly during the crisis. The episode followed a Spanish Supreme Court ruling concerning the immediate rejection at the border of people who arrived by sea. Spanish authorities subsequently moved to restore the situation, while Morocco and Spain intensified their cooperation to prevent further crossings.

Ceuta is a strange place to contemplate migration. It is geographically in Africa but politically part of Spain; and therefore, part of the European Union. Its border is not simply a line separating two states. It is a physical manifestation of a much older relationship between two continents.

And perhaps the most important question is not simply: Why are people trying to enter Europe?

It is: Why does Europe remain sufficiently attractive that people are willing to risk their lives trying to reach it?

From extraction to aspiration

The contemporary migration story cannot be reduced to colonialism. Africans migrate for many reasons: employment, education, family reunification, conflict, insecurity, political conditions, environmental pressures and personal aspirations. Much African migration also takes place within Africa itself.

Yet history matters.

European colonialism profoundly reshaped African economies. In many territories, economic structures were organised around the extraction and export of primary commodities. Roads and railways were frequently constructed to connect areas of agricultural, or mineral production, to ports and external markets rather than to create integrated domestic economies. World Bank historical analyses have documented the extent to which colonial economies were dependent on a limited number of primary commodities and external markets.

This was not merely an economic arrangement. It affected what economies produced, where infrastructure was built, how labour was organised and where the value generated by production was realised.

The Congo Free State ,under King Leopold II, offers one of history’s starkest examples. The territory was subjected to a system of forced labour and violent extraction, particularly around rubber and ivory. Forced labour was legally authorised and coercive systems were used to secure production.

But Leopold’s Congo should not be presented as a metaphor for every African country or every European colonial experience. Colonial rule differed substantially across the continent. The broader point is narrower; and perhaps more consequential: colonial economies frequently connected African land, labour and resources to European markets on terms that privileged extraction and external trade.

Modern scholarship continues to examine the long-term effects of these structures. Research on colonial cash-crop economies, for example, has found that colonial production and infrastructure created lasting patterns of economic organisation, while the benefits of these systems were often geographically concentrated and domestic production linkages remained weak.

The question, then, is not whether colonialism single-handedly caused contemporary African migration.

It is whether a history in which Europe was deeply involved in shaping African economies also helped produce the unequal relationship from which today’s migration patterns emerged.

The language of migration

There is another legacy that is easy to overlook because it has become so ordinary: language.

French is spoken across substantial parts of West and Central Africa. Portuguese remains an official language in several African states. English is widely used in countries whose histories are connected to the British Empire.

These are not simply linguistic accidents.

Colonial rule created institutional, educational and administrative connections that survived independence. Those connections later became migration networks.

France, Belgium, Portugal and other European countries are, therefore, not random destinations for African migrants. Their migration relationships with particular African states have been shaped by history, including colonial connections and post-war labour recruitment. The OECD notes that the composition of immigrant populations in several European countries continues to reflect colonial legacies; France, Belgium, Portugal and the Netherlands, for example, have substantial African-born populations.

This creates something more powerful than a shared language. It creates familiarity.

A young person in an African country may have a cousin in Paris, an uncle in Brussels, a former schoolmate in Lisbon or a friend in Milan. Europe ceases to be an abstract geographical destination. It becomes a place where somebody they know already lives.

Diaspora networks can, therefore, function as social infrastructure for migration. They provide information, contacts, accommodation, employment leads and emotional reassurance. The journey may be dangerous, but the destination is no longer entirely unknown.

Why Europe?

There is an uncomfortable paradox at the heart of this story.

For centuries, European powers travelled to Africa in search of land, labour, markets and resources.

Today, Africans travel towards Europe in search of employment, security, education and opportunity.

The direction of movement has changed.

The unequal relationship has not necessarily disappeared. That does not mean Europe is uniformly prosperous while Africa is uniformly poor. Africa is a continent of 54 states with enormous differences in wealth, governance, opportunity and living standards. Nor is Europe free from unemployment, inequality or social exclusion.

But migration decisions are comparative. People do not need to believe that Europe is perfect. They need to believe that their prospects there are better than their prospects at home. That distinction matters.

A person crossing the Mediterranean may not be chasing luxury. They may be chasing a job, a university place, safety, family, dignity or simply the possibility of building a future that appears increasingly difficult to build at home.

Research on West African migration similarly identifies economic opportunity, employment, governance, development conditions and existing migration networks among the factors shaping movement.

The Mediterranean as a graveyard

The tragedy is that the Mediterranean has become not merely a migration route, but a graveyard.

The International Organisation for Migration recorded 5,305 deaths or disappearances on migration routes to Europe in 2016. More than 5,000 deaths and disappearances were recorded in the Mediterranean that year alone.

The danger has never meant that people stop moving.

Instead, when legal routes narrow, journeys can become more dangerous.

That is the central paradox of irregular migration: the more difficult it becomes to cross safely, the greater the incentives for smugglers and increasingly dangerous routes can become for people who are determined to leave.

Ceuta illustrates this geography particularly vividly. Spain and Morocco have spent years reinforcing physical barriers and security arrangements around the enclave. Yet the geographical proximity remains. Africa is only a few kilometres from Europe at its closest points.

A fence can prevent a person from crossing.

It cannot, by itself, erase the reasons that person wanted to cross.

Map courtesy BBC

Europe responds with law

Europe is not without a legal response. Indeed, the European Union has spent years developing increasingly sophisticated mechanisms for managing migration and asylum. As of June 2026, the EU Pact on Migration and Asylum entered into application across EU Member States. It establishes common procedures for screening and registering irregular arrivals, asylum processing, responsibility-sharing and returns, alongside safeguards for fundamental rights.

The European Commission has simultaneously emphasised both stronger external borders and expanded pathways for legal migration, including the EU Talent Pool for workers from outside the Union.

The legal architecture, therefore, reflects competing imperatives.

States have a legitimate interest in controlling their borders.

People have rights when they cross borders.

States have obligations concerning asylum and fundamental rights.

And migrants have reasons; sometimes compelling reasons, for moving.

The challenge is that border control addresses the movement of people. It does not necessarily address the conditions that produce the desire to move.

That distinction should be at the centre of the migration debate.

The African dream of Europe

There is a phrase often encountered in discussions about African migration: that Europe represents a promised land, while Africa is left behind.

Such descriptions can be unfair to a continent that contains enormous economic, cultural and political diversity. But the aspiration itself should not be dismissed.

When a young person believes that their best chance of employment, education or security lies thousands of kilometres away, that tells us something about both the destination and the place they are leaving.

Migration, therefore, becomes a form of social commentary.

People vote with their feet; not because migration is always the right choice, but because their decisions reveal how they perceive the opportunities available to them.

This is also why migration matters for the sustainability of states.

If a country’s young people increasingly organise their lives around the possibility of leaving, the problem is larger than the loss of individual workers. Countries can lose skills, professionals, entrepreneurs, researchers and future leaders. Families may become transnational. Communities may depend increasingly upon remittances. And the political question becomes unavoidable:

What kind of country are we building if so many of our citizens imagine their future somewhere else?

Sri Lanka should understand this question.

The circumstances are obviously different from those of African states facing Mediterranean migration routes. Sri Lankan migration is shaped by its own economic, political and historical circumstances, and its principal destinations and migration channels differ considerably.

Yet the underlying question is familiar.

When leaving becomes the most attractive strategy for an ambitious young person, migration is no longer merely an individual phenomenon. It becomes a measure of confidence in the future of the country itself.

Beyond the border

Perhaps, then, Europe should not ask only how to stop people from crossing.

And African governments should not ask only how to persuade people to stay.

Both questions are too narrow.

The deeper question is why a world divided by such profound economic inequalities continues to expect people to remain content on one side of the divide while opportunity is concentrated on the other.

The answer cannot be an open border without regulation. Nor can it be a fortress surrounded by increasingly dangerous seas.

A more durable approach would require investment in economic opportunity, domestic industries, education, accountable institutions and safe and lawful avenues for migration. It would require European countries to recognise that migration management is not simply a security question. It is also an economic, historical and human-rights question.

And African states must confront an equally difficult reality: historical exploitation can explain part of today’s inequality, but it cannot become an excuse for indefinitely postponing the task of building states in which people want to remain.

The Mediterranean will continue to separate Africa from Europe geographically.

But history has already connected them.

The resources extracted from Africa helped build European economies. Colonial languages created enduring institutional links. Diaspora communities now connect African families to European cities. Labour moves in both directions. Capital moves in both directions. Ideas move in both directions.

What crosses the Mediterranean, therefore, is not merely a migrant.

It is history.

The person swimming towards Ceuta is carrying more than a small bag, if they have one at all. They may be carrying the expectations of a family, the memory of an economy shaped by generations of external relationships, the example of relatives who successfully migrated, and the belief that somewhere on the other side of the water there is a future worth risking everything to reach.

Perhaps, that is the question Europe should hear beneath the sound of the waves:

What would have to change so that crossing the sea was a choice rather than a necessity?

(The views expressed are those of the writers and do not necessarily represent those of the institutions with which the writers associated)