Features

NU’S SOCIAL MILIEU

Published

1 year ago

2025/05/18

Thilina Walpola

Beeralu lace-makers

CHAPTER II

(Excerpted from N.U. JAYAWARDENA The first five decades)

I am proud of my humble beginnings. My earliest memories are of my parents, humble people. My father was in charge of the resthouse at Hambantota and held the conferred rank of arachchi, and later he farmed a rather large but unproductive extent of paddy land.

(N.U. Jayawardena, interview with Roshan Pieris, 1987)

Religious Background

NU’s parents, born in the 19th century, were essentially people of the South who had never travelled beyond the Hambantota and Matara districts, until their old age when they moved to Colombo. They were devout Buddhists who had lived through the Buddhist Revival Movement in Sri Lanka, which occurred from the middle of the 19th century onward. The South also had a regional consciousness as being the “Gods’ own country” (deviyange rata), since Kataragama, the pilgrimage site of Buddhists and Hindus, was in the region.

There was also a historic memory of former greatness in the South of Sri Lanka. The people of the Matara and Hambantota districts were steeped in the early history of the Ruhuna region, when Tissamaharama was a powerful kingdom associated especially with King Dutugemunu (c.100 BC), his father King Kavantissa and mother Vihara Maha Devi. The region abounds in important historic and religious sites, in places such as Mulkirigala, Tissamaharama, Kirinde, Sithulpawwa and Kataragama. In Devundara (Dondra) was the ancient Vishnu devale, revered by both Hindus and Buddhists – with its rituals and annual perahera (procession).

Buddhist monk with acolytes

An important challenge to the colonial establishment had come from the Buddhists, who opposed Christianity as being the religion of the foreign rulers and challenged Christian missionaries, who dominated education. The Buddhist Revival Movement of the 19^th and early 20th centuries was concerned with religious and national identity, also promoting modern education and temperance in the context of Buddhism. Support for it came from the new class of Sinhala Buddhist merchants who had earlier made fortunes in trade, the liquor business, plantations and graphite.

Many Buddhists from rural areas and small towns were also galvanized into supporting Buddhist grievances and demands. Some Buddhist revivalists – especially Anagarika Dharmapala and Colonel Henry Olcott – travelled by cart from village to village all over the South, promoting a resurgence of Buddhism and collecting funds for Buddhist schools.

Although the various communities had lived harmoniously, there were some occasional rumblings of religious discord. The Sinhala Buddhists thought of themselves as ‘sons of the soil.’ There were clashes in Colombo in 1883, when there was conflict between Buddhists and Catholics over Easter celebrations. In 1915, a more serious clash broke out between Buddhists and Muslims, beginning in Gampola and quickly spreading to other parts of the island. These and other flare-ups were a reflection of both the religious and economic discord of the period.

School drill

The young NU would have been keenly aware of the existence in the Hambantota area of both Buddhists and Muslims. Leonard Woolf had reported that “the races and religions have lived amicably side by side,” but that there were also occasional outbursts. Woolf records a riot occurring in Hambantota town in May 1911, when, allegedly, the drumming from a Buddhist procession outside the mosque was objected to by Muslims, resulting in a fracas.

Woolf (1962, pp.241-42) relates how he settled the matter: “I fined one side for disturbing a religious procession and the other for tom-tom beating without a licence, the Mohammedans Rs. 35 and the Buddhists Rs. 60.” Adding that the penalties were light, he said that it was done “as a matter of expedience” in order to allow the “religious ill-feeling to die out at once” (ibid). According to Woolf, “even in the quietest place, peace was precarious” (1961, p.242).

NU’s elder sister Rosalind witnessed this event, and years later recalled to her daughter Chandrani, how at the age of six she had the frightening experience of peering through the door into the street and seeing the commotion and bloodshed. NU would have been only three at the time. Even if he did not recall this riot, he may have been aware of the more widespread riots between the Sinhala and Muslim communities that occurred later in 1915.

Education and Illiteracy

During a period of expanding education in the early 20th century, the Hambantota district (as noted in Chapter 1- https://island.lk/unchanging-hambantota/), was among the least-developed in the island. The Superintendent of the 1911 Census, E.B. Denham, referred to the district, in terms of literacy, as “undoubtedly the most backward Low-country District during the decade” (Denham, 1912, p.407, emphasis added).

Transitions in dress reflecting two cultures

Among the Sinhala community of Hambantota, the literacy figures in 1901 were 27% for males, but only 1.7% for females; and by 1911, the males were still only 31% literate, and the females, 2.2%. Even in the more developed neighbouring districts, Sinhala female literacy was low. For example, the Matara district had 7% female literacy in 1911, while the Galle district rate was 14% (ibid, pp.404-7). By contrast, in the same year, 26.8% of women in Colombo were literate (ibid, p.412).

NU, who was very attached to his mother, frequently referred to her inability to read and write. Of his mother, who was from Devundara in the Matara district, he said:

My mother was very warm-hearted. She was not literate. She could not even sign her own name. But she created for her children a loving home where all of us were equally important and each one of us received the same measure of concern and affection. She had the time to spend with us, and it was this aspect of my home life that made me, years later, when I married, spend time with my children even though I was often busy and tired, because I wanted them to feel that I was concerned about every aspect of their lives. (interview by Manel Abhayaratne)

NU’s daughter Neiliya remembers her paternal grandmother as a ‘carbon copy’ of her own mother:

The only difference was that the former could neither read nor write. She was, however, the moving spirit behind her family and children, seven of whom lived into their eighties and beyond. (Neiliya Perera,2006)

In spite of her illiteracy, NU’s mother had a sharp mind and, according to all accounts, was the brains in the family. Thrifty and enterprising, she lent money informally, on the security of gold sovereigns, to women of the neighbourhood, many of whom were Muslim. Her method of calculation was based on a measurement of time from one poya (full-moon) day to the next. She would mentally calculate the interest and would waive part of it if the item was redeemed before the end of this period (Chandrani Jayawardena, quoting her mother’s recollections). This was not uncommon, as women from low-income groups had, and continue to have, their own means of survival, which could also include the seettu (a system of saving), lace-making, coir-spinning, mat-weaving, and other income- generating small ventures.

The Consciousness of Caste

In Sri Lanka, caste and kinship networks – originally based on occupation – formed the basis of society, reinforced by traditional obligations to relatives. Southern Sri Lanka was a multi-caste region where a range of Sinhala castes were present. There were, however, clusters of persons belonging to specific castes who, historically, were concentrated in certain areas. The Durava caste, to which NU’s parents belonged, was one of the smaller but more important castes of the Southern and Western provinces.

In the 1824 Census, in which caste was recorded for the first time, the Durava were reported as forming around 5.6% of the low-country Sinhala population, with pockets of the Durava caste in specific areas – Tangalle 9.5%, Colombo 4.7%, Galle 3.7% and Chilaw 4.1% (Ryan, 1953, p.264). During the 19th century, however, changes took place with the development of the colonial economy and the increased migration of people to Colombo in search of employment. Bryce Ryan, writing in 1953, noted that the economic backgrounds among the Durava ranged from “rich to very poor” in urban areas, but the majority, in rural areas, were “peasant cultivators and labourers.”

. Humorous depictions of the “Resthouse experience,”

From the time of Dutch occupation onwards, this caste had moved from traditional occupations at village level into other areas of activity available under the colonial economy, especially benefiting from education, economic opportunities and urban expansion during British rule.

By the early 20th century, a significant number of the Durava were part of the middle and lower- middle class of Colombo. Through the education process, they qualified for government positions in clerical and other white-collar employment, and many became lawyers, doctors, teachers and academics.

In a caste- and class-conscious society, the family of NU (like many others of the region) were aware of the limitations of caste-based rural life and would seek to move into the modern world where status was judged on education, merit and achievement, and not solely on caste.

Inevitably, bright males in the family were supported and financed by relatives, so that they could achieve success and thereby elevate the status of the whole family. The key to success was education in the English language, and studious boys often moved from small missionary or government schools to the larger, more prestigious schools in the provincial capitals, and even on to major schools in Colombo, which provided a superior academic education.

Chandrani and her mother Rosalind, NU’s elder sister

Verandah of Hambantota Resthouse

The Resthouse Culture

At the time of NU’s birth, his father U.J. Diyonis was the resthouse keeper at Hambantota. He also possessed a buggy cart and some acres of paddy land in Tangalle. It had been his wife’s uncle, Richard Gunasekera, a clerk to the District Mudaliyar of Magampattu, who had advised him to apply for the post. Diyonis, of an independent frame of mind, was also, as NU’s daughter Neiliya describes him: “a man who had a similar temperament to my father, but without his brilliance.” By ‘temperament,’ she was referring to Diyonis’ and NU’s quick temper and impatience.

Resthouses, which were a colonial innovation, served as places where government officials could lodge during their field circuits. They were located throughout the island, mainly along public roads – often at attractive sites. In 1911 there were 193 resthouses (Denham, 1912, p.5). Resthouses were also used by a few local residents who could afford them, to spend a quiet holiday or as a place of sojourn during a long journey (de Zoysa manuscript, p.42). The post of resthouse keeper was a respected one, usually being conferred the title of arachchi. The job carried the responsibility of providing congenial accommodation and food, mostly for colonial officials and tourists.

: NU’a father, UJ Diyonis

: NU’s mother, Gajawirage Podinona

In their architecture, resthouses generally conformed to a set style. A partially enclosed verandah ran along its entire length; from this, doors led to the dining room in the centre, and to bedrooms on either side. Behind the dining room was a space that served as a reception room, which also had a liquor bar. The kitchen and the rooms of the waiters and other employees were still further toward the back (de Zoysa manuscript, p.42). The professional attributes of a resthouse keeper were civility, knowledge of English sufficient to communicate with British officials or other visitors, and an ability to ensure their comfortable stay, as well as to handle the staff under his authority.

Diyonis, on these counts, was much praised by the visitors to his resthouse, which overlooked the beautiful bay of Hambantota. In the course of his work, he had to show courtesy, and provide efficient service, clean accommodation, good western and local food, and to be deferential to foreign guests, colonial bureaucrats and important locals who visited the resthouse. Leonard Woolf, who spent three years in Hambantota – living in the AGA’s house near the resthouse – would have been a frequent patron with his guests, interacting closely with U.J. Diyonis. (1. Interestingly, decades later, while studying in Britain,

NU’s son Lal interviewed Woolf several times on British land policy and the chena system of cultivation.)

In those days of strict dress codes and protocol, the personal appearance and grooming of the resthouse staff would have been important. From many accounts, both NU’s mother and father were conscious about their appearance, and paid great attention to detail – traits NU shared. NU’s daughter Neiliya recalls the great pride that her grandfather Diyonis took in his appearance, and how he was always dressed in a white cloth and coat with gold buttons.

Sinhala women dressed in typical ‘southern’ style

Neiliya also describes how her grandmother would always be immaculately dressed in a white blouse with wrist-length sleeves styled in the southern fashion, with delicate lace-inset panels. With this she would wear a light-coloured cloth, which would ‘glisten like silk.’ Being practical, her grandmother would wear a darker cloth when doing housework, but would change into a better cloth when receiving guests. Confirmation of this fastidiousness on her grandmother’s part, as regards her person and abode, can be gleaned from Neiliya’s interesting childhood impression:

[My grandparents’] house itself was spotlessly clean, the cement floor gleaming, just like my grandmother, who was always dressed in a white blouse, edged with lace and with detachable gold buttons down the front and a self-coloured cloth.

Sri Lankan ‘Moor’

For those who knew or encountered NU in his later life, it is apparent that he reflected this upbringing. Many who met him were struck by his meticulousness and disciplined approach to his physical appearance, grooming and dress, in his surroundings and in his work. Indeed, many of those who came into his presence would witness how his eye would immediately hone in on anything out of place. He was an extremely orderly person who liked everything in its place, and many people have remarked upon the style and grace in which he entertained people at his home or in his office.

One can trace these qualities in NU back to his childhood. Being an observant and bright child, NU would have watched all the comings and goings at the resthouse, and the organizational problems his father coped with, including catering, accounting, and keeping the system running efficiently. He would have keenly watched the colonial officials, foreign tourists and dignitaries and members of the local elite – their lifestyles, mannerisms and eating and drinking habits – and had more than a glimpse of how the privileged lived.

His father may have shown him the names in the visitors’ book; and NU probably decided, early in life, that he would emancipate himself from his social origins and become part of the elite whom he had observed at close quarters in his father’s place of work. But he did not have many illusions about the difficulty of achieving such ambitions. The gulf between ‘them’ and ‘us’ was wide, and he would have sensed that the one possibility of social mobility and of finding a way out of Hambantota was through education.

Out of the disparate and contradictory tendencies, which were produced during colonial rule, two cultures developed in Sri Lankan society, which were not mutually exclusive. One, disdainful of colonial influence, emphasized traditional values and loyalty to ethnic, caste and kinship group and the extended family.

Hambantota coastline with boats

The other, a modernizing culture, required a rational worldview, western education, more individualism and knowledge of English. The educated youth embodied these different trends in their outlook. They looked forward and back. They wanted to modernize and to better themselves economically and socially. The majority looked for white-collar jobs, a few gaining membership in prestigious professions.

‘Modernization’ was conceived by them in the image of the colonial rulers (though those rulers never accepted them as their social equals). Yet, those who wanted to move on were also, like the mass of society, rooted in the past.

It was an interesting case of the coexistence of tradition and modernity, and a hybrid ‘two-culture’ society. NU mirrored this combined development. He was a man of two worlds – a Sinhala Buddhist, and a Durava, but educated in English – conforming in his later life to a westernized lifestyle and universalistic outlook, while also remaining conscious of ethno-religious and caste issues. An Indian writer once said that, people in India may have left the village, but the village never left them.

This was true of many Sri Lankans from a rural background, who never forgot their roots and held onto certain traditional practices, one of them being the obligation to help family members and relations. There are many anecdotes that show how, throughout his life, NU engaged in the traditional practice of helping others: his parents, sisters, brothers, nieces and nephews, along with many others who appealed to him for assistance.

By Kumari Jayawardena and Jennifer Moragoda

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Features

Will new UGC Circular 06/2026 strengthen or weaken open and distance learning in Sri Lanka?

Published

13 hours ago

2026/07/24

Thilina Walpola

Balancing Quality Assurance with Educational Access

Sri Lanka’s higher education system has long sought to balance two equally important national objectives: maintaining academic quality while expanding access to university education. Open and Distance Learning (ODL) has been one of the country’s most successful mechanisms for achieving this balance, particularly for working adults, teachers, government officers, rural communities, and thousands of students who were unable to enter conventional degree programmes. In addition to undergraduate and postgraduate degrees, sub-degree qualifications such as Certificate, Diploma, and Higher Diploma programmes have gained remarkable momentum over the past two decades. These programmes have become increasingly popular by providing flexible, affordable, and employment-oriented learning opportunities for school leavers, working professionals, and aspiring entrepreneurs.

With the introduction of the new UGC regulatory framework, these sub-degree programmes also come under a more comprehensive system of oversight. Strengthening quality assurance and protecting academic standards are legitimate policy objectives that can enhance the credibility and recognition of university qualifications. However, the expansion of centralised regulation also raises important questions regarding institutional autonomy, flexibility, and the future growth of Open and Distance Learning.

Globally, higher education is increasingly moving towards greater institutional autonomy, decentralised decision-making, flexible programme delivery, and innovation supported by robust quality assurance mechanisms. Sri Lanka, however, appears to be adopting a more centralised regulatory approach. While greater oversight may improve accountability and consistency, excessive centralization risks reducing institutional flexibility, slowing innovation, increasing administrative burdens, and limiting the ability of universities to respond quickly to emerging educational and labour market needs. The challenge, therefore, is not whether regulation is necessary, but whether it achieves an appropriate balance between ensuring quality and preserving the autonomy and adaptability that have been central to the success of Open and Distance Learning.

Greatest Concern

The greatest concern is whether the new regulatory framework may unintentionally reduce access to higher education, particularly in regional universities that have historically served disadvantaged communities. Universities such as Sabaragamuwa, Uva Wellassa, Rajarata, Wayamba, South Eastern, Eastern and several others were established not only to decentralize higher education but also to stimulate regional development. Their external degree and distance learning programmes have become an important bridge connecting universities with rural populations.

These programmes have enabled thousands of school teachers, public servants, private-sector employees, farmers, entrepreneurs, and young adults from economically disadvantaged families to obtain university qualifications without relocating to major cities. For many families, Open and Distance Learning is not simply another educational option, but also it is the only realistic pathway to higher education.

The sustainability of many Open and Distance Learning (ODL) programmes has faced challenges for several years. Some programmes have struggled to demonstrate strong labour market outcomes, particularly where curricula have not evolved in line with changing industry needs. However, this is only part of the picture. In many disciplines, especially agriculture, agribusiness, community development, media and vocationally oriented fields, diploma and certificate holders have become successful entrepreneurs, agricultural extension workers, and local development leaders. Therefore, the value of external education should not be assessed solely by graduate employment statistics but also by its contribution to entrepreneurship, lifelong learning, rural development, and community empowerment.

Less Discussed Challenge

Another, less discussed challenge is the institutional attitude towards external education. Over the years, Open and Distance Learning programmes have sometimes faced resistance from sections of the university community, including internal student groups, some academics, administrators, and policymakers. Concerns over resource allocation, workload, infrastructure, and institutional priorities have occasionally created tensions between internal and external programmes. Rather than viewing these programmes as complementary components of a university’s mission, they have sometimes been perceived as competing for limited resources. Such perspectives can discourage collaboration and prevent universities from making the most effective use of shared academic expertise, facilities, and infrastructure. As publicly funded institutions, universities have a responsibility to maximise the use of their academic resources for the benefit of society. The challenge is not to choose between internal and external education, but to develop policies that promote equitable resource sharing, mutual respect, and efficient utilization of facilities while maintaining high academic standards for all learners.

Academic staff engaged in Open and Distance Learning (ODL) programmes frequently receive relatively modest remuneration considering the substantial additional responsibilities involved, including course design, online and face-to-face teaching, travel, student mentoring, assessment, and quality assurance activities. In recent years, higher personal income tax rates on additional earnings have further reduced the financial attractiveness of external teaching for many academics. Consequently, some experienced lecturers are becoming increasingly reluctant to participate in ODL programmes, creating a growing challenge for universities in recruiting and retaining qualified teaching staff. If this trend continues without appropriate policy interventions, it may adversely affect the long-term sustainability, quality, and expansion of external education.

There are also concerns that the implementation of the new UGC circular with its additional regulatory requirements and financial ceilings on programme operations and staff remuneration, where applicable may further reduce institutional flexibility and academic participation. If these concerns are not carefully addressed through consultation and periodic policy review, the combined effects of increasing regulatory constraints, financial disincentives, and declining academic participation could undermine the future growth and sustainability of Sri Lanka’s Open and Distance Learning sector. At the same time, programme operating costs have increased substantially due to inflation, technology investments, administrative expenses, and taxation. Consequently, tuition fees have risen, making university education increasingly difficult for lower-income students.

If additional regulatory requirements significantly increase administrative complexity or operating costs without corresponding institutional support, there is a legitimate concern that some programmes may become financially unsustainable. The result could be a gradual reduction in course offerings, fewer academic staff willing to participate, declining student enrolments, and ultimately the closure of programmes that have served rural Sri Lanka for decades. Such an outcome would conflict with one of the fundamental purposes of public universities that to expand educational opportunities beyond urban centres. Quality assurance should never be compromised. Students deserve programmes with qualified academic staff, robust assessment systems, modern learning technologies, and effective student support services. Public confidence in university qualifications depends upon maintaining high academic standards. Nevertheless, quality assurance should function as an enabling framework rather than becoming an administrative barrier. Policies should encourage innovation, flexibility, and accessibility while ensuring accountability. The challenge is therefore not whether regulation is necessary, it certainly is, but whether regulation has been designed with sufficient consideration of institutional diversity. Regional universities operate under financial and human resource constraints that differ considerably from those of larger metropolitan institutions. A uniform regulatory framework may therefore produce unequal consequences across the university system.

Broader socioeconomic impact

Another important consideration is the broader socioeconomic impact. Open and Distance Learning contributes not only to education but also to local economies. Regional study centres create employment opportunities, stimulate local businesses, generate demand for accommodation and transport, and support digital infrastructure development. More importantly, they allow educated professionals to remain within their communities while upgrading their qualifications. In an era where governments emphasize lifelong learning, digital education, workforce reskilling, and inclusive development, policies should strengthen but not unintentionally weaken the national Open and Distance Learning ecosystem.

The University Grants Commission should therefore consider establishing a comprehensive consultative review involving universities, academic staff, students, employers, quality assurance experts, and regional stakeholders before full implementation of major regulatory reforms. Such a review could identify practical adjustments that preserve academic quality while ensuring that regulations remain realistic, affordable, and supportive of institutional sustainability.

Higher education policy should not only regulate universities; it should also empower them to fulfil their national mission. Sri Lanka cannot afford to reduce educational opportunities for those who have the fewest alternatives. For thousands of working adults and rural students, Open and Distance Learning represents hope, opportunity, and social mobility. Any reform affecting that opportunity deserves careful consultation, thoughtful implementation, and continuous evaluation.

The ultimate objective should be clear: to improve quality without sacrificing accessibility, to strengthen accountability without reducing opportunity, and to ensure that Sri Lanka’s universities remain engines of inclusive national development rather than becoming institutions accessible only to those who can afford conventional education.

Disclaimer:

The views expressed in this article are solely those of the author, presented to encourage constructive discussion on higher education policy reforms, and do not necessarily reflect the views or positions of any institution or organization with which the author is affiliated.

About the Writer:

Prof. M. P. S. Magamage is a senior academic at the Sabaragamuwa University of Sri Lanka and a distinguished scholar with extensive international experience. He is a Fulbright Scholar, Indian Science Research Fellow, and Australian Endeavour Fellow, and has served as a Visiting Professor at the University of Nebraska–Lincoln, USA. Beyond his academic achievements, Prof. Magamage has played significant roles in national policy and disaster-related governance, higher education policy development. He can be contacted at magamage@agri.sab.ac.lk.

by Prof. M. P. S. Magamage

Features

Appleby Plays Chicken

Published

13 hours ago

2026/07/24

Thilina Walpola

Tales of Mystery and Suspense 11

After the horrors of modernity and the absurdity of murder in the midst of the preposterous Ballet Stroganoff, I turn to more orthodox crime fiction. It fits into the tradition of the golden age of crime fiction, though it was not published between the wars, but rather in the fifties.

It was a quintessential Oxford book, written by Michael Innes, the pseudonym of the Christ Church English don J I M Stewart. I read it in a quintessentially Oxford setting, the Chalet in the French Alps where in the seventies I had been to several reading parties.

I was not really a Chalet type, for most of the others from the College were from British public schools, blond and athletic, though the patron as we called the Senior Tutor who ran our parties did ask exceptions to add to the mix, such as my fellow classicist Reggie Oliver now well known for collections of horror stories. But they too walked, whereas after my first effort, up the hill to the restaurant hotel which supplied our wine, I said firmly I would not walk again.

So, I would sit in the chalet and read, for it had a wonderful collection of books, dating from the previous century when it had been founded by a famous Balliol don. And last year, when I was asked if I would like to join a party for former Chaletites, I found after I had staggered down to the place from the hotel – now only a restaurant – that it would be best not even to try that short walk until the time came to leave.

Stewart

I had five days of tranquil bliss, marvelling at the two other older men who did walk, but quite content with my books. And having reread a book I had loved half a century earlier, I turned to thrillers of which there was a great collection.

I had enjoyed the few Innes books I had read previously, but this one was new, and apt for it began with a reading party. Appleby Plays Chicken (also known as Death on a Quiet Day) features his favourite detective, Police Commissioner Sir John Appleby. The party was not in the Alps but in a quiet English village, and begins with a game of chicken involving fast driving, which leads the thoughtful undergraduate who sensibly chickened out going for a long walk the following day. During the walk, he comes across a dead body, and realizes that the murderer must be the man he sees walking away on the other side. But he comes up and seems to be helping the boy with the investigation, when he suddenly pulls a gun.

That leads to a long chase over the moors, with other sinister figures popping up, though the last one turns out to be Appleby, who had noticed blood on the shoe of the boy who had been put into an ambulance. Finding himself in a police station, the boy relates what happened, and the two of them go back to the tor, only to find another dead body there. But this belongs to someone else, in fact the man who had appeared on top and pulled out a pistol. And his murderer is on another hill nearby and nearly knocks off Appleby.

He gets away, despite the police cordon Appleby had summoned, and the story moves to the hotel and two strange people there, a man who the students think is a clergyman, and a military man whom Appleby says is a blackmailer. Then a message comes to the don in charge of the party, that his brother, a landowner in the neighbourhood, was missing, presumed drowned.

Meanwhile the supposed clergyman is waiting for his daughter, who it seems was the young lady in a car which seemed to offer refuge to the fugitive boy, but when he next came across it his pursuers had taken it over. A telegram comes from her to say she was staying over with her friends, but the boys realize that it had come from nearby, and they hare off in pursuit.

Appleby and the don and the clergyman and the military man go to the house of the drowned brother and then follow the youngsters to a tower where they believe the girl is being kept. Appleby tells the original young man to go first, and then the others follow, to find the girl and the clergyman and the military man all together there, which leads to a dramatic conclusion, in which the villain falls to his death and the don follows in trying to save him.

It turns out that this is a spy story too, the brother having been blackmailed by the man who killed him when he burnt on the tor the papers that were wanted. Then the mastermind killed the blackmailer, and the don, coming across the bodies, decided that his brother had to disappear, in a bog, to avoid disgrace. He then took his clothes to the shore by his house so that he could be presumed drowned.

And the girl was an accomplice, while the clergyman was the mastermind, which became clear when he fell into the trap of writing a blackmailing letter on the military man’s typewriter. But this was after Appleby had damaged it slightly so the fact that it was typed in the latter’s absence could be identified.

All very complex, and eccentric as Innes is wont to be, but wonderfully exciting, if quite different from the reading parties I was familiar with.

Features

The Dark Side of Meritocracy

Published

13 hours ago

2026/07/24

Thilina Walpola

During the colonial era, Sri Lanka had a stronger economy than Singapore. Over the past seven decades, however, the two countries have followed sharply different paths. Singapore’s rise as a global economic hub is often attributed to three core principles: meritocracy, pragmatism, and honesty.

Critics argue that Sri Lanka’s problems reflect a failure to uphold these principles, a point that needs little proof, as we have seen it all firsthand. Today, there is renewed interest in restoring these values to governance, especially pragmatism and honesty, both of which Sri Lanka urgently needs. Meritocracy, however, is not that simple: the ways merit is assessed and acquired can undermine the very purpose meritocracy is meant to serve. While Sri Lanka must embrace meritocracy, we must take measures to prevent it from drifting into the dark side.

Meritocracy is commonly defined as a social, political, or economic system in which people are chosen for positions based on ability, talent, and effort, collectively called merits, rather than wealth, class, or inherited privilege.

Sri Lanka has a deep-rooted culture that not only tolerates but often venerates inherited privileges such as nepotism—advancement based on family ties or close personal connections; patronage—rewards and positions given in exchange for loyalty or political support; cronyism—favours given to friends or allies, especially in business or politics; aristocracy—power based on inherited status, class, or birth; and oligarchy—power held by a small, privileged group. These are legacies of a long history of monarchy, colonialism, and feudalism. Furthermore, social divisions based on religion, ethnicity, and caste add to the complexity. Our culture has a way of resigning itself to these social injustices by attributing them to fate or bad karma.

These deep-rooted practices have all but replaced meritocracy, causing immense damage to the country’s economy and social fabric. Therefore, adhering to meritocracy seems the obvious thing to do, but there are two unseen problems lurking beneath. First, an individual’s ability to earn merits depends on many factors, and the opportunities for earning merits are not equally available to all, a legacy of our past unjust practices. For those who have less or no opportunities to earn merits, the competition is over even before it begins.

Merit not a single universal quality

Second, “merit” is not a single universal quality. It varies with the job or position. A pilot, teacher, farmer, judge, engineer, and political leader each require different forms of ability, judgment, discipline, and responsibility. Therefore, merit must be assessed according to the demands of the role, not merely by the results of a standard test or formal qualifications, as practiced today. If we practice meritocracy under the present conditions, we will not get the expected outcome: meritocracy. Ironically, a cyclical process.

Therefore, adhering to meritocracy while ignoring the conditions that rob the opportunities to gain merits will only perpetuate unjust and outdated systems under the pretext of fair and progressive reform. Merit is a wonderful way to choose a pilot, but a terrible way to decide who deserves a dignified life.

This is a complex issue, and Sri Lanka has tried to address it in many ways in the past, with questionable, if not disastrous, results. The key point of this analysis is that our definition of merit is narrow and misleading. “Merit” is rarely an objective, universal metric. What one organisation values as merit may differ drastically from another. Our system equates merits or skills with the ability to perform on tests, starting from Grade five through final examinations at university. That is a problem as it does not measure the ability to do a job successfully.

Standard tests measure convergent thinking, that is, finding the single correct answer to a problem, but they completely miss identifying divergent thinking, which involves generating novel, creative solutions where no single answer exists. In other words, it is the ability to be “street smart” when confronted with real life problems that counts. Not the ability to cross the box in a test paper. Convergent thinking can be quantified; that is what test scores provide, and that has become the standard currency of merit in our society. On the other hand, there is no test to quantify the divergent thinking ability needed to solve complex problems on the ground. It is that skill we need to identify and nurture if we are to succeed economically and socially as a country.

The sunset example

A few terms used in relation to this subject need clarification: in the first scenario presented in the illustration, only the person standing on the highest ground can enjoy the sunset. The fence, which may have been erected for safety or as a boundary, blocks the view of the two people on lower ground. This is inequality. If the height of the fence were lowered enough for all three people to see the sunset, as in the second scenario, that would represent formal equality: treating everyone the same, regardless of where they stand. It seems fair, but it has drawbacks.

First, when the fence is lowered, the original purpose of the fence may be compromised or lost. If the fence were built for safety, someone on higher ground could trip and fall over the cliff on the other side. Second, the person on higher ground could still see the sunset for longer than the others. For example, if one person’s position is one foot higher than another’s, he or she could see the sunset about 4.2 seconds longer; if the difference is 1,000 feet, the sunset lasts about 2 minutes and 13 seconds longer. In other words, the person on higher ground still has an inbuilt advantage. This is true in real life as well. In the third scenario, the fence is lowered proportionally. There is an appearance of equality, but the longer sunset enjoyed from higher ground has not been addressed. In the fourth scenario, conditions have been equalized in a more justifiable way.

That is the theory. British sociologist Michael Young is credited with coining the term meritocracy in his 1958 satirical book The Rise of the Meritocracy. He warned that a pure meritocracy could create a permanent, arrogant ruling elite whose members believed they owed all their success solely to their own efforts, while making the lower classes feel entirely responsible for their poverty. Scholars across the developed world are raising concerns about the outcome of true meritocracies, including in our model country, Singapore (Ong Ye Kung, 2018).

Permanent arrogant ruling elite?

Create a permanent, arrogant ruling elite? That is a dire warning we cannot ignore. Such a condition can create new divisions, disrupt national unity, and damage economic development. Sri Lanka has experienced enough of it: two youth uprisings, a civil war, ongoing social tensions, and a failed economy. Let us be clear, deep down, the root cause of these conflicts is the lack of equal opportunities to participate in the country’s economy and earn a decent living. Those with ulterior motives may give different meaning, but that is the reality. We cannot afford repetitions.

Tests that measure convergent thinking ability by asking how quickly one can find the single correct answer to a carefully structured problem. The test taker’s ability to answer such questions does not depend on education alone, but it also depends on family status and support, social background, nutrition, safety, and access to networking. In some cases, geography, disability, caste, ethnicity, religion, and political influence also come into play. Unequal opportunities create unequal merit. Therefore, a purely meritocratic system can appear fair while still rewarding advantages accumulated long before competition begins. When there are so many factors in play, equalising all of them, creating a just environment, let alone the most crucial factor, education, can be a herculean task.

The better alternative is to use a measure of divergent thinking ability, but that presents several problems. Divergent thinking is the thought process used to generate creative ideas by exploring many workable solutions. Instead of looking for a single, correct answer, which is convergent thinking, divergent thinking expands outward in multiple, non-linear directions. It is often spontaneous, free-flowing, and associated with “thinking outside the box.” Convergent thinking ability peaks during early adulthood and diminishes with age, whereas divergent thinking ability increases throughout life. Experience counts. Therefore, to assess divergent thinking ability, it is necessary to observe an individual’s performance while he or she is facing real-life problems over a longer period than what it takes to do a standard test.

Reasons for reassessing the push

Sri Lanka has other reasons for reassessing the push to establish a conventional meritocracy. According to available data, one-fifth of Sri Lanka’s labour force is employed in the public sector, while the rest is divided between the private sector and informal employment in a two-to-three ratio. This means that more than 60% of the labour force consists of small-scale, unregistered family units, subsistence farmers, street vendors, three-wheel drivers, daily-wage laborers, and independent tradespeople such as plumbers, carpenters, and masons. In addition, it is estimated that about 8.6 to 9.2 million Sri Lankans who can work are not actively looking for employment; more than 71% of them are female.

Promised Justice

The promised “justice” of meritocracy does not reach them. For example, the country had been self-sufficient in rice on many occasions, but rice farmers remain trapped in a cycle of enduring poverty with little hope of escape. Sri Lanka’s Inequality Index increased from 37.7 in 2019 to 39.8, reflecting the disproportionate burden on the informal labour force, even though Sri Lanka was declared an Upper-Middle-Income country by the same monitoring organization. Our system does not provide the opportunity for all citizens to participate in the economy, and that is a major hindrance to economic development.

Success and justice require assessing both the convergent and divergent thinking abilities of an individual as an entry requirement as well as during their performance in the position. The private sector practices this, but the current public sector system fails on both counts. The perils of selecting or electing people who are not qualified to do the job do not need explanation. Sadly, that has been Sri Lanka’s legacy. In addition, the current system fails to assess the job performance of elected or selected people and hold them accountable. Public sector jobs are for life. Pay increases and promotions are predetermined and, unlike in the private sector, are not based on performance or productivity.

This is the fundamental reason for needing education reforms. Our education system was first designed to provide clerical support to colonial administrators. Conditions have changed, but the system remains stubbornly unchanged. The education system is not designed to meet the country’s needs. On one hand, it has created a shortage of qualified people to provide essential services. On the other hand, brain drain fulfills the needs of affluent countries at the expense of hard-earned taxpayer money.

University graudates

In this system, higher education has been enlisted in defining merit and conferring the credentials that a market meritocracy rewards, while distorting the mission of higher education. Many university graduates end up in teaching positions when they have no teaching experience. The same applies to university teachers as well. This writer has seen his share of university teachers who would not have tenure if their students were allowed to grade their performance, as happens in most Western countries.

The lack of a system to evaluate employee performance, particularly in the public sector, is a serious error. In the current system, this is the only opportunity to assess divergent thinking ability, or the so-called soft skills and mindset, which, along with hard skills, are crucial in delivering the intended service and achieving personal growth: actual merit. Instead, public sector employees’ promotions and pay increases follow a fixed timetable, irrespective of their performance. This guaranteed-for-life employment system not only eliminates accountability but also kills motivation to do the job well and discourages innovation. Both individuals and the country suffer as a result.

The other drawback is the social devaluation of vocational skills in favour of professional skills—another residue of our feudal past that refuses to go away. This prestige hierarchy places undue emphasis on university education at the expense of vocational training. Both students and parents are under severe pressure to do well at exams, and this creates a wholesale drive to send children to elite schools in the capital and feed a massive tuition industry. This fixation on a few professions fails to recognise the significance of the other vocational professions to the economy.

Professionals may claim that they have invested more in achieving their skills and deserve preferential treatment, but they should not forget that farmers, plantation workers, and domestic workers abroad, to name a few, contribute to maintaining the infrastructure that allows professionals to earn their merit: the ‘moral desert.’ Society must have the decency to recognise their contribution, not in slogans, but by providing them with the means to lead a decent life.

Even under the best of conditions, meritocracy has become another form of hereditary system, much as aristocracy was. Affluent, privileged parents have figured out how to pass their privilege on to their children, not by bequeathing them land or estates, as in aristocratic societies, but by equipping them to compete successfully and get well-paid jobs, particularly in the private sector, and amass wealth. Meritocracy fails because it turns success into a moral claim, breeds arrogance among winners, creates shame among losers, reproduces privilege, and undermines democratic solidarity. Critics see it as a way to whitewash elitism (Sandel 2021, Markovits 2019, Littler 2017, Frank 2016, Guinier 2015).

Shortcomings

On the surface, meritocracy is the right practice. Indeed, meritocracy must be practiced; one cannot hire a mechanic to pilot a plane just because he is well connected. Yet, even under the best of conditions, meritocracy has shortcomings; and efforts to provide justice in earning merit, as shown in the fourth scenario in the illustration, not only unachievable, but it can create new social problems, as we have seen in our own past. Besides, such measures are only temporary, like medication given for an acute illness. They should not remain in place indefinitely. Lasting solutions must honor the dignity of work rather than credential achievement alone. That will also solve the rampant shortage of qualified workers while addressing the issue of brain drain. Most Nordic countries and some Eastern European countries have found their own solutions to this problem.

Nordic approaches may not transfer directly to Sri Lanka, but one conclusion is clear: our education system must be reformed to address these conditions. Sri Lankans spend more on the thriving shadow education system than the education department’s budget, while other pressing issues get neglected, for example, childhood malnutrition. Education should not merely grant credentials of limited value at home while serving affluent countries at taxpayers’ expense. In Singapore, our model country, meritocracy is not a “moral desert” driven solely by exam competition; it is grounded in “national duty.” We have recognised our past mistakes, but solving such a complex problem needs long-term strategic planning. Therefore, now is the right moment to begin a serious dialogue and include the right strategy in our plan for a happy and prosperous nation.

by Geewananda Gunawardana, Ph.D.