Features
Oddity of the National List – Twins in a Single Body: A Commentary
by Lokubanda Tillakaratne
Fforthcoming General Election allows us to revisit the state of the 29 individuals commonly known as the National List—apportion members under Article 99 of the Constitution—to join the 196 elected members in parliament as stipulated in Article 98(1). This List is akin to a shadow bicameral legislature with a moiety of members who have no accountability to the voting electors, the people, because they never had to promise anything to the voters and never received a vote explicitly intended for them.
After the September 21st awakening, citizens are yearning to vote again in the General Election to do something to repeal these unpopular, confusing, and least helpful parts in the Constitution that had soured the meaning of governing and supremacy of consent of the governed.
As stipulated in Article 93, voting for Members of Parliament (MPs) is a ‘free’ and ‘equal’ process with secret ballots of the people. In practice, that only applies to the 196 members of the 225-member body in parliament. The voters do not have any direct means to express their preference on the balance of 29 members. That preference is the unfettered prerogative of the party hierarchy, which proposes the names to be considered as potential MPs! The qualification to be nominated into the parliament under this List category is allegiance to and friendship with the party leaders. The Constitution had sidelined the consent of the people in this instance.
After the vote counts at the forthcoming General Election for the 196 representatives, the Commissioner of Elections will announce the 29 representatives selected as per Article 99A to complete the 225-members.
For the upcoming election, the Commissioner of Elections has already proposed and published nominees for this list from each party. However, the Constitution has not offered a mechanism for the electors to vote for the List members. Instead, it allows votes cast by the electors earlier in the day for the 196 to be dusted off and recycled by way of a calculation to apportion 29 names that will become the National List.
On the election night, meanwhile, potential members of this List will revel with the party leaders and bigwigs in Colombo watching the vote count, not for them but for electors who will earn the Just Powers from the masses for governing. They are partying and waiting for the cast votes to be re-used to make the List. The List hopefuls mingle in the cream of the party spending political equity hoping for a place in the 29 group. These individuals probably never left the boundary of their cozy homes to put up a poster on a street corner or hang a string of bunting across main street begging for votes for them. Such low-rung jobs are the burden of the commoners, the 196, not the ones chosen in party headquarters.
An elector can call this a second-tier group of names that gets the same powers as the 196 to govern. But the List members have diffused responsibilities, and some even get ministerial portfolios soon after taking the oath of office. So, without ever having promised anything to the people, this group gets a free ride to the Diyavanna Oya people’s house to benefit from the heavenly perks for five years without ever declaring their position on any issue affecting the lives of the electors. Sweet pensions await them at the end of the term.
Some members of this List have been MPs in parliament through this process since 1994, a full generation and more, without ever receiving a single vote, and some names have been nominated for consecutive terms by diverse parties. Some are past 90 years of age and still seek to gain entrance through the current list published a few weeks ago. This makes this hardly democracy, but a List for a form of old-fashioned gerontocracy.
The recent thundering response from the electorate yearning for youth opens the gates to look seriously at this unusual system of supposed ‘representation’ of people by a motley group of individuals.
Article 99A of the Constitution defining this 29-member List as ‘elected’ is a misnomer. This is only a group primarily known to the party leadership which does the nomination. From the composition and past and present conduct of the List members, it appears those who do the nomination lack discernment and concern for the people and the electoral process.
Recently concluded parliamentary nomination shows what’s wrong with this process. Apportion of 29 individuals as representatives cannot be considered even a Referendum as it is silent in Articles relating to the process of election of President and Representatives. Few individuals who failed badly in the recently held presidential election now appear in the proposed National List for the honour of governing as an MP. A group of men and women, some unknown to many, shall be rammed upon us through a different list as per the Constitution. This List receives legitimacy as MPs only after using votes we cast to elect the other group, the 196 MPs. The well-known secret is that the 29-member group, which could not convince electors to vote for it or would not be likely to win an election, gets the privilege now to govern the electors, We the People.
Article 99 is a vehicle for favouritism and nepotism. The List seems to carry strands of DNA showing connectivity to diverse lines of political ancestry going back to early 1900s. Some have failed or are tired of their other interests or think inclusion in the List might enhance their opportunities for new pursuits. The consensus among the electors is that this List has become a landing spot for spouses, sons, and daughters of sitting or former politicians, retirees, and financial backers of the party to govern without an electoral consent. Others are close followers of the political echelon, and some are in occupations with nothing to do with governing.
After every election cycle, the new List is headed for perks like free housing in Colombo, V8-class behemoths, or luxury sedans with windows with tinted glass, all at the expense of the people. While holding office, when they get out of the car, they walk with the ostentation of a peacock. When they lose, they hide the car in a friend’s garage and disappear like Hippos out of water. To evict them from the government issued house in Colombo, the only way is to smoke them out like we do with a bee-hive.
These perks are only dreams for a teacher with 20 years of service in the Wellaragama school of 180 students in Galenbindunuwewa Education Zone. He must beg for a loan to build his home. With the first installment cheque, before starting on the foundation, he must erect the electrified elephant fence around the house plot.
Giving the powers and privileges of 196 to the 29 moiety of membership too in the parliament is a half-cooked process. Only one group goes through the rigours of the competitive electoral process while the other group, the chosen ones, gets its pass to parliament on a silver platter without shedding a drop of sweat. They come to represent people as an all-Island team without any mandate, consent of the people, or electoral district boundary which is mandated for the 196. Theirs is a shore-to-shore boundary. Although the National List is constitutional, this manifestly odd practice on the fringes and below surface democracy has been a source of dissatisfaction and discussion among the people. It is a broken moment in Sri Lanka’s democratic process we hold dear.
While the elected 196 representatives have earned the honour by going from door to door in the district, the List members have never come before the people asking for votes. They never get off stage. After failing in previous elections, some had a minimal chance of succeeding at another election to be elevated to the real ranks of the elected. The electors will not get an opportunity to hear from the List collectively or individually to know what their policy proposals for a particular electoral district are. The List members sit in the august chamber anyway, with the blessings of genealogical magic and the know-how of the party hierarchy.
The right to govern is a privilege earned by the representatives through votes of the governed. While the 196 passes this test, from the way the 29 group was nominated, it shows it is exempted from that test. The former earns the honour after campaigning at a granular level, while the latter, the handpicked colleagues of the party stratosphere, are handed the keys to the parliament at the party office in Colombo.
Political leadership has learned ways to circumvent the original intent of Article 99A. The process of the 29 is sullied, often wiled, and wandered off from the universal democratic maxim best described in the classic document of democracy, the American Declaration of Independence – governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. For the 99A, consent of the party hierarchy is what matters.
With the mandate of this Article, acutely contrary to the Just Powers maxim, the framers of the Constitution have left us with a problem. The National List supposedly was intended to safeguard the underrepresented groups and to augment the experience and expertise capital in the legislative chamber of the elected members. It was an attempt to uphold fairness to the people and encourage pluralistic themes society needs. With a formula prescribed for the tumultuous times we experienced in the early 1980s behind us, I believe time has come to open the conversation about the pros and cons of the National List model.
The past 15 years have shown Sri Lanka has moved past those treacherous times of the 80s. The country enjoys a precious state of ethnic harmony, understanding, and respect for each other, a marked distinction from the encumbrances that plagued us in the past.
Although the intent of the drafters of the Constitution had been sincere and timely, every class of previous Lists sitting in the parliament consisted of few individuals with questionable competency or potential for ability to govern. What part of national and public interest they represent is muddied, to say the least.
Furthermore, the List took its own evolutionary path, not envisioned or expected by the framers, and now appears outdated and unnecessary.
Thus, the twin or binary confusion of the moieties in the parliament chamber begs the question: If experience and expertise were prerequisites for the job of being an MP in the National List category, why not seek the same from the elected, the 196, as well? Or, since such a prerequisite is not required from the elected 196, why not ask the 29 group to enter the electoral process as well, representing assigned districts, and join as conventional MPs?
On the other hand, if the National List of 29 is so indispensable for the interests of the country as much as 196, why bother to mortgage the country to hold the elections to bring in the latter? Instead, why not commission the party leadership to nominate all 225? A few typed sheets of names will do the job. Money saved by this change will allow the Treasury to buy the basic needs of the people. Remember the Panadol days?
In a peculiar way, this governing model reminds me of the allegory in the story of the extraordinary twins in Mark Twain’s Pudd’nhead Wilson (1894). The twins, Italian counts Angelo and Luigi, immigrated to Dawson’s Landing, a frontier town on the banks of Mississippi River. They are conjoined at neck down, have two talking heads, four arms, one body, and two legs. The two heads can think differently and talk things simultaneously; four arms can move whichever way a head prefers, but two legs make the twins walk as one. The two heads have mutually agreed that every Sunday at 12 midnight ownership of the legs changed from one twin to the other. When one gets sick, even if the other’s head is healthy, the whole system breaks down and both heads feel the pain. Then the citizens in Dawson’s Landing call the only practicing physician in town, Dr. Claypool, who is yet to pass the licensing exam.
It is reassuring that since our electoral process has 70 years of experience, voters in Sri Lanka will do without Dr. Claypool’s medical Rx consisting of ingredients like a grain of gold, a bone of the stag’s heart, shavings of ivory, dates, roses, and scores of other items prescribed to ailing twins to correct the conjoined twin syndrome the Constitution has overwhelmed us with. Instead, voters will get the opportunity to heal the 29-class disorder at this forthcoming election. They can vote to stop the backdoor culture of governing and do something to remove the National List misnomer from the Constitution.
This time around, voters must think of our shadow bicameral system of governing while waiting in line to vote. They are at the doorstep of correcting this oddity by voting in a two-thirds majority for a political party of their choice.
Twins’ Story Update
: After Luigi was elected for Dawson’s Landing City Council, he was not allowed to attend 6-member executive council meetings open only to elected members. Council member Luigi was not allowed to sit in the Council chamber because Angelo was not eligible to sit as he was not an elected member. Without Luigi in the council meetings, there was no quorum, law making came to a standstill, and the town was paralyzed. It tried every loophole to make it possible for the twins to sit at the table but found no legal way to do it.
So, they hanged Luigi.
Features
The Digital Underground
Illegal Foreign Exchange, Undiyal, Hawala and Money Laundering, A Four-Part Investigative Series
Forex Platforms, Cryptocurrency, AI and the New Financial Battlefield
THE INVISIBLE FINANCIAL EMPIRE – PART III
The Boyfriend Who Was Never Real
Priya, a 34-year-old professional in Colombo, met “David” on LinkedIn. He claimed to work in fintech in Singapore. For six weeks they exchanged messages daily, about work, about life, about a recent trip he had taken to the Maldives. Eventually, the conversation turned, gently and naturally, to money.
“I’ve been trading on this platform, let me show you,” he said, sharing a screenshot of a sleek trading dashboard showing consistent, impressive returns.
Priya invested a small amount first, $500. Within days, her dashboard showed it had grown to $650. She withdrew $100 successfully, just to test it. It worked. Encouraged, she invested more. Then more. Over two months, she transferred a total of $42,000 into the platform.
When she tried to withdraw her full balance, the platform demanded a “regulatory release fee” of $8,000 before funds could be unlocked. She paid it. Then another fee appeared. Then the platform stopped responding altogether. “David” vanished. The trading dashboard, the customer support chat, the entire brokerage, all of it had never been real.
This is what investigators now call “pig butchering”, and, in 2026, the most disturbing development is not the scam itself, which has existed for years, but what now powers it: artificial intelligence has industrialised the entire operation.
From Manual Fraud to Machine-Generated Deception
For most of the past decade, romance-and-investment scams, like the one that targeted Priya, required enormous manual labour. Scam operations, many of them staffed by trafficked workers held against their will in compounds across Myanmar, Cambodia, and Laos, needed real humans to build relationships with victims over weeks, manage fake trading platforms, and respond convincingly to questions.
That labour-intensive model has now been substantially automated. According to financial-crime researchers tracking this shift through 2026, threat actors are standing up entire AI-generated “brokerage” experiences end-to-end, complete with KYC onboarding, branded customer-service chat, animated portfolio dashboards, and falsified live market data feeds, and operating them at industrial scale against multiple victims simultaneously. Generative-AI relationship managers now front the WhatsApp and Telegram conversations that once required real human scammers. AI-cloned regulator letters are generated on demand to justify the fake “release fees” that drain victims a final time before the platform disappears.
What has changed is not the deception itself, it is the production economics. The cost of running a credible synthetic brokerage against one additional victim has collapsed, meaning a single criminal network can now run hundreds of “Davids” simultaneously, each one indistinguishable from a genuine fintech professional until it is too late. (Figure 01)

Sri Lanka: From Victim Pool to Operating Base
Sri Lanka’s relationship to this global scam economy has shifted in an alarming direction over the past two years. The country is no longer only a source of victims, it has become an operating base for the criminal networks themselves.
In April, 2026, Sri Lankan police raided a five-star hotel property, in Ambakandavila, and arrested 150 individuals, including 133 Chinese nationals, 13 Vietnamese nationals, and one Malaysian national, allegedly running a cyber fraud centre with links to international criminal syndicates, based in Myanmar and Cambodia. Investigators say the operation followed a now-familiar regional pattern: recruiters advertise “online marketing” or “data entry” jobs on social media to lure foreign workers to Sri Lanka, confiscate their passports on arrival, and force them to operate scam campaigns under threat.
The Central Bank of Sri Lanka has formally flagged pig-butchering scams as a “developing threat,” warning that foreign scam networks are increasingly targeting overseas nationals through scam farms operating from Sri Lankan soil. A 2026 United Nations report estimated that at least 300,000 people have been trafficked into scam centres across Southeast Asia.
This is not an abstract international problem. It is unfolding in hotels and rented properties across the country, exploiting the same infrastructure, high-speed internet, affordable accommodation, accessible tourist visas, that Sri Lanka has built to attract legitimate digital businesses and tourists.
Where the Money Actually Goes: The Stablecoin Pipeline
Behind every successful pig-butchering scam sits a laundering pipeline that has been transformed almost as dramatically as the scams themselves, and the transformation has a single dominant feature: stablecoins.
According to the Financial Action Task Force’s March 2026, report, drawing on analysis from blockchain intelligence firms Chainalysis and TRM Labs, stablecoins accounted for 84% of the USD 154 billion in illicit virtual asset transaction volume recorded in 2025, the highest share ever observed, and a dramatic jump from just 15% only a few years earlier. TRM Labs separately found that illicit entities received USD 141 billion in stablecoins, in 2025 alone, the highest level observed in five years. (See Table 01)

The scale of state-level abuse is striking. A Russian sanctions-evasion network built around the ruble-pegged stablecoin A7A5 processed more than USD 72 billion in total volume in 2025.
Fighting Fire with Fire: AI on the Defensive Side
The same artificial intelligence reshaping financial crime is also, out of necessity, reshaping the defence against it. Legacy anti-money laundering systems, built on static, rule-based thresholds, have proven badly outmatched by AI-generated fraud operating at machine speed. Research cited by compliance technology analysts suggests that between 90% and 95% of alerts generated by legacy AML systems are false positives, consuming enormous investigator time while genuinely suspicious activity slips through.
This is not a frictionless transition. AI models are notoriously difficult to explain to regulators and examiners in the way traditional rule-based systems are. The practical compromise emerging across the industry is a hybrid model: AI handles the initial scoring and prioritisation of risk, while documented rule-based logic still governs the final decision that must be defensible to a regulator.
The Regulatory Response: Catching Up to the Digital Frontier
Regulators worldwide have begun moving to close the most dangerous gaps exposed by this digital transformation of financial crime. (See Table 02)

What Comes Next
We have now traced this investigation from the centuries-old mechanics of Hawala and Undiyal, through the three-stage architecture that turns criminal proceeds into apparently legitimate wealth, to the AI-generated frontier of digital financial crime reshaping all of it at machine speed.
In our concluding instalment, Part IV: “Sri Lanka at the Crossroads: Economic Consequences, Organised Crime and the Road Ahead”, we bring this series home. We examine precisely what all of this costs Sri Lanka in hard economic terms: lost remittances, exchange rate pressure, tax revenue forgone, and the 2026 FATF evaluation that will determine whether the country’s institutions can demonstrate, with evidence rather than legislation alone, that they are equal to this challenge. We close with a practical policy roadmap.
(The writer, a senior Chartered Accountant and professional banker, is Professor at SLIIT, Malabe.
Views expressed in this article are personal.)
Features
‘There are no private universities in Sri Lanka’ – some considerations for higher education reform
Academics involved in education policy like to say that there is no such thing as a private university in Sri Lanka. The only ‘universities’ in the country are state universities; anything else offering degrees is a private higher education institution (HEI). This position is technically accurate. Yet, in the discourse and imagination of the public, private universities are very real – people teach in them, students register in them, families pay fees, and such degree holders enter job markets in Sri Lanka and outside.
For decades, activists concerned for public higher education have ignored or resisted looking at private HEIs, as if such scrutiny would taint them. Others have worked in both types of institutions, carrying practices from each to the other. The apex body governing state universities, the UGC, has, meanwhile, ignored the concept of conflict of interest and appointed individuals in private higher education in committees and leadership positions. It is unsurprising then that some of the ideologies informing private higher education appear in reform agendas in the state sector.
This is a good time then to consider the varying types of private HEIs around us, and to take a look at some of the issues within them in the hope that higher education reform agendas will include private, as well as state higher education.
What is a ‘private university’?
First, some clarifications. In the public imaginary, a ‘private university’ is typically an institution that provides a foreign or local degree for which the student makes a payment. But this broad classification encompasses a host of diverse institutions and types of degrees which I detail below.
The Non-State Higher Education Division (NSHE) of the Ministry of Education has recognised 295 degrees by 32 institutions. Most of these are private companies and include a handful of established, well-known private HEIs that are ‘university like’. The degrees are local degrees conferred by the institutions accredited by the NSHE Division. While private HEIs conferring local degrees must be accredited by the NSHE Division, there appears to be no legal consequence for not doing so. In addition, there are several permutations of the private degree that miss the net of this Division and the Standing Committee on Accreditation and Quality Assurance (SCAQA) that assists this Division.
For one, degrees conferred by foreign universities offered, via these same private HEIs, are not vetted by the NSHE Division. Secondly, there is a growing plethora of private HEIs which have either no physical presence locally or only a dubious presence. The University Grants Commission has notified the public, through their website, that foreign universities listed in the Commonwealth Universities Yearbook and the World Higher Education Database are recognised, but refrained from giving any other details – which degrees? Offered by what modes? These details are not known. Some of the foreign universities in the lists may be legitimate entities in their own land but the degrees conferred locally, in their name, may not adhere to curriculum or teaching specifications of the NSHE Division or the UGC.
Another troubling phenomenon is the ‘top up degree’, which appears to work on the same principle as that of a pre-paid mobile connection: if I have a Diploma or an HND of a sort, I am eligible to complete a course of study which provides me with a degree, usually from a foreign university. The idea that someone who does not initially qualify for a degree programme should be able to work their way towards one is a progressive notion. This is the concept that open and distance learning (ODL) was based on initially, but which is now sadly exploited. ODL models are expected to provide opportunity for learning for those who may be excluded from traditional learning institutions. In Sri Lanka, however, we have seen ODL become a marketplace offering easy to obtain, for-fee qualifications by institutions with little commitment to superior teaching and learning.
Finally, a perusal of the many types of private HEIs and their varied degrees bring to mind another question – how should the private degrees, provided by state institutions (that are not educational institutions), be regulated? Who should do so?
All of these create a host of problems for the public – for hopeful students and parents and trusting employers. For the higher education sector, recruitment of academic staff, too, has become difficult due to this plethora of ambiguous higher education qualifications, as I discussed in a previous Kuppi article (‘Recruiting academics to state universities’).
Some issues in private HEIs – a bellwether for change in state universities
In this second part of this article, I will discuss some aspects of work in private HEIs – albeit the more established institutions – given that such issues may appear in reform agendas in future.
Across state universities, all permanent staff of a specific category are paid according to the same criteria. The picture is not so clear when it comes to private HEIs since they are different entities legally, typically companies. Private HEIs have salary scales and financial incentives that are different to each other. The more established private HEIs reportedly have attractive renumeration packages, possibly a reason for academics of state universities migrating eagerly to such institutions during sabbatical years and on retirement. This may not of course be the case with other less established, or improperly registered HEIs of which we know little. Academic staff of these more accepted private HEIs seem to value the high financial remuneration they receive (in comparison to state universities) as something that makes their work rewarding.
Attractive remuneration is important to sustain the good life and is at times seen as the institution’s way of encouraging good work. Yet, this has implications for the future of the institution: to continue to deliver on promised financial packages, institutions must continue to have large profit margins. One strategy has been to enroll multiple cohorts of students per year, even up to three or four intakes per year. This can result in exploitative work conditions, since staff must cater to all these cohorts in that same year. If there is inadequate staff, employees are further burdened. On the other hand, if there is a sudden drop in enrolments (degrees can go out of fashion) unexpected layoffs occur. Similar to other sectors that employ short-term contract staff – including state universities – in private HEIs, too, individual teachers, who are on short term contracts that need regular renewal, can feel pressured to work under difficult or exploitative conditions.
At the same time, even in the more established private HEIs, work norms differ from those of state universities in that they include promotional work that keeps the institution’s name in the eye of the public. The Marketing (or similarly named) unit comes up in conversations as one of the most important departments. It appears to weigh in on decision-making related to the number of staff, the amount of re-sits per exams, and other pedagogically important matters. This is a worrying example of how financial rationales interfere with pedagogically or academically sound processes, resulting in problematic results in the classroom. On the plus side, junior colleagues, who had experience in both state and private HEIs, also felt that they faced less harassment in private HEIs – primarily due to the private HEIs ability to take swift action in reported cases of harassment. This is a real indictment on state institutions and their reluctance to address chronic issues of harassment in our universities.
Yet, while we hear much about problems in state universities, we hardly hear of problems that staff in private HEIs face. One rationale for a lack of public expressions by staff is that expressions of discontent might lead to trouble given the importance of reputation for private HEIs. The worry about reputational damage is a growing concern in state universities, too, as evidenced by social media policies and internal conversations on reputational damage, consequent to negative publicity. Institutional worries of reputational damage are harmful in the long run since these impact not only freedom of expression by student and staff, but also research that is possible in and about the education sector.
Some thoughts at the end…
A close look at the private higher education sector is important given its strong presence in the country. Impending reform needs to regulate this diverse array of higher education offerings in the private sector, as well as the state institutions that offer privately-funded options of higher education (a topic for a separate Kuppi on its own). It is time we carefully considered how to build a whole system of higher education out of this broken mess.
Kaushalya Perera is a senior lecturer at the University of Colombo.
Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies.
Features
Ready for solo spotlight
Singer Nish Peiris is set to take the next big step in her music journey.
The talented vocalist, who has been seen and heard in the scene here for a short while, and was also featured with the now-defunct band, Inner Vision, has announced that she will be fully committing to her solo career, after completing her degree this year.
“I’m finishing my degree this year, and after that I’ll be fully committing to my solo music career,” Nish told The Island.
“I’ve already got a few tours lined up for next year, so I’m really excited for what’s ahead.”
Fans, no doubt, will remember Nish for her smooth voice and stage presence, and the good news is that she is now ready to chart her own path and bring new music to audiences at home and abroad.
With tours already planned for 2027, the year 2026 promises to be an exciting year for the young artiste as she steps into the spotlight on her own.
We wish Nish every success in this new chapter!
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