Features
Reimagining Sri Lankan education: Beyond entitlement to empowerment – Part II
(Continued from yesterday)
The Crisis of Curriculum and the Absence of Originality
The failings of the Sri Lankan education system are not confined to its funding model; they are deeply embedded in the very content of what is taught and how it is assessed. The current curriculum is widely criticised for being outdated, rigid, and disconnected from the realities of the 21st-century global economy. It prioritises rote memorization over critical thinking, theoretical knowledge over practical application, and conformity over creativity. The result is a system that produces graduates who may be academically proficient but are often ill-equipped for the demands of the modern workplace. They lack the problem-solving skills, the adaptability, and the innovative mindset that are the hallmarks of a successful knowledge-based economy.
This “absence of originality” is a direct consequence of a system that has for too long been insulated from the forces of change. The world is undergoing a rapid technological transformation, yet the Sri Lankan classroom remains largely untouched by this revolution. While students outside the school gates are avidly consuming information from a vast and dynamic digital universe—learning from Wikipedia, YouTube, and other online platforms—the school curriculum remains tethered to outdated textbooks and antiquated teaching methods. This creates a jarring disconnect for young learners, who quickly perceive the irrelevance of what they are being taught in schools. The result is disengagement, disillusionment, and a loss of genuine interest in the formal learning process.
The assessment methods employed by the system further exacerbate this problem. The high-stakes, examination-oriented culture places immense pressure on students, forcing them to focus on memorizing facts and figures for the sole purpose of passing exams. This “exam fever” has spawned a massive shadow education industry in the form of private tuition centers, which drains significant financial resources from families and further entrenches the culture of rote learning. The system, in effect, punishes creativity and rewards conformity, stifling the very qualities that are most needed to drive innovation and progress.
Meaningful reform must therefore begin with a “creative destruction” of the current curriculum. This does not mean abandoning core subjects or academic rigor. Rather, it means reorienting the entire educational philosophy towards the development of 21st-century skills: critical thinking, creativity, collaboration, and communication. It means embracing technology not as a peripheral add-on but as a central tool for learning and discovery. It means shifting from a teacher-centric model of instruction to a student-centric model of inquiry-based learning. And it means fundamentally rethinking assessment, moving away from a singular focus on high-stakes examinations towards a more holistic approach that values a diverse range of skills and competencies. This will require a significant investment in teacher training and professional development, as well as a willingness to experiment with new pedagogical approaches. The goal should be to create a learning environment that is dynamic, engaging, and relevant—one that sparks curiosity, fosters a love of lifelong learning, and empowers students to become not just consumers of knowledge but creators of it.
The Path to Reform: Consultation, Innovation, and Political Will
The road to educational reform is fraught with challenges, but it is a journey that Sri Lanka can no longer afford to postpone. The process must be guided by a clear set of principles, beginning with a genuine commitment to multi-stakeholder consultation. For too long, educational policy has been a top-down affair, with reforms conceived in the corridors of power and imposed upon a largely passive public. This approach has bred mistrust and resistance, with many well-intentioned initiatives failing to gain traction due to a lack of buy-in from key stakeholders. The loudest and most persistent criticism often comes from the teaching and academic communities, who rightly feel that they have been marginalised in a process that directly impacts their professional lives.
A new approach is needed, one that is rooted in the principles of social dialogue and participatory governance. As the United Nations has warned, declining trust in public institutions is a global phenomenon, exacerbated by the spread of misinformation and disinformation. The only way to counter this trend and build the social cohesion necessary for meaningful reform is to create inclusive platforms for dialogue, where all voices can be heard. This means engaging not just with academics and policymakers, but with teachers, parents, students, civil society organisations, and the private sector. The student voice, in particular, is a critical but often-overlooked resource. Young people have a unique and valuable perspective on the shortcomings of the current system, and their insights must be actively sought and incorporated into the reform process. This consultative approach may be time-consuming, but it is the only way to ensure that the resulting reforms are relevant, effective, and sustainable. It is the only way to move from a culture of finding problems in solutions to one of collaboratively finding solutions to long-standing problems.
Alongside this commitment to consultation, there must be a willingness to embrace innovation, particularly in the realm of financing. The current state-funded model is clearly broken. The argument that the state must be the sole funder of education to protect it from the perils of privatisation is a false dichotomy. It ignores the reality that a vast and unregulated private education market already exists, in the form of tuition centers and foreign university affiliations, which siphons off billions of rupees that could be channeled into the formal system. The challenge is not to resist private investment but to harness it in a way that serves the public good.
This requires a radical rethinking of the funding model. One promising approach is to move towards a system where state funding follows the student, rather than the institution. This could be achieved through a system of means-tested vouchers or scholarships, which would empower parents and students to choose the educational institution—be it public or private—that best meets their needs. This would introduce a healthy element of competition into the system, incentivizing schools and universities to improve their quality and responsiveness. It would also allow for the introduction of user fees for those who can afford to pay, while ensuring that the state continues to provide a safety net for the poor and marginalised. This would create a more sustainable and equitable funding model, one that leverages both public and private resources to create a high-quality education system for all.
Such a proposal will undoubtedly face stiff opposition from those who are vested in the current system, particularly from those who benefit from the comforts of the entitlement-based compensation structure. The Federation of University Teachers Association (FUTA), for example, has historically campaigned for a guaranteed 6% of GDP to be allocated to education, a demand that is understandable within the current paradigm but which becomes less relevant in a more diversified and self-sustaining funding model. Overcoming this resistance will require immense political will and a courageous leadership that is willing to challenge entrenched interests and make the case for a new social contract for education.
Conclusion: A Call to Action for a New Era
The evidence is overwhelming, the arguments compelling. Sri Lanka’s education system is in a state of profound crisis, a crisis that threatens the very future of the nation. The system, born of a desire to correct historical injustices, has become a prisoner of its own past, trapped in a cycle of political expediency, chronic underfunding, and intellectual stagnation. The entitlement culture it has fostered has created a sense of dependency that stifles individual initiative and national progress. The curriculum, rooted in the industrial age, is failing to prepare young people for the challenges and opportunities of the digital age. The result is a tragic waste of human potential, a “brain drain” of the nation’s brightest minds, and a growing sense of disillusionment and despair among the youth.
But this is not a moment for despair; it is a moment for decision. The “Aragalaya” movement of 2021-22 was a powerful expression of the public’s desire for systemic change. The challenge now is to translate that desire into a concrete and actionable plan for reform. This will require a level of political courage and national unity that has been sorely lacking in recent decades. It will require a leadership that is willing to look beyond the next election cycle and make the long-term investments necessary to build a world-class education system.
The path forward is clear. It begins with a fundamental shift in mindset, a move away from the debilitating narrative of “education for free” towards the empowering vision of true “free education.” It requires the creation of a diverse, dynamic, and competitive educational landscape, where choice and opportunity are available to all, and where the state’s role is to ensure equity and excellence. It demands a radical overhaul of the curriculum, one that prioritizses critical thinking, creativity, and lifelong learning. And it necessitates a new social contract for education, one that is built on the principles of shared responsibility, multi-stakeholder collaboration, and innovative financing.
The task is monumental, but the stakes could not be higher. The future prosperity of Sri Lanka, its ability to compete in the global economy, and the well-being of its citizens all depend on the choices that are made today. The time for incremental change has passed. The moment for a paradigm shift has arrived. Let this be the generation that finally breaks free from the shackles of the past and builds an education system that is worthy of the talent and potential of the Sri Lankan people. Let this be the generation that transforms education from a source of entitlement into a catalyst for empowerment, and in so doing, charts a new and brighter course for the future of the nation.
by Jayasri Priyalal
Features
Rethinking post-disaster urban planning: Lessons from Peradeniya
A recent discussion by former Environment Minister, Eng. Patali Champika Ranawaka on the Derana 360 programme has reignited an important national conversation on how Sri Lanka plans, builds and rebuilds in the face of recurring disasters.
His observations, delivered with characteristic clarity and logic, went beyond the immediate causes of recent calamities and focused sharply on long-term solutions—particularly the urgent need for smarter land use and vertical housing development.
Ranawaka’s proposal to introduce multistoried housing schemes in the Gannoruwa area, as a way of reducing pressure on environmentally sensitive and disaster-prone zones, resonated strongly with urban planners and environmentalists alike.
It also echoed ideas that have been quietly discussed within academic and conservation circles for years but rarely translated into policy.
One such voice is that of Professor Siril Wijesundara, Research Professor at the National Institute of Fundamental Studies (NIFS) and former Director General of the Royal Botanic Gardens, Peradeniya, who believes that disasters are often “less acts of nature and more outcomes of poor planning.”
“What we repeatedly see in Sri Lanka is not merely natural disasters, but planning failures,” Professor Wijesundara told The Island.
“Floods, landslides and environmental degradation are intensified because we continue to build horizontally, encroaching on wetlands, forest margins and river reservations, instead of thinking vertically and strategically.”
The former Director General notes that the University of Peradeniya itself offers a compelling case study of both the problem and the solution. The main campus, already densely built and ecologically sensitive, continues to absorb new faculties, hostels and administrative buildings, placing immense pressure on green spaces and drainage systems.
“The Peradeniya campus was designed with landscape harmony in mind,” he said. “But over time, ad-hoc construction has compromised that vision. If development continues in the same manner, the campus will lose not only its aesthetic value but also its ecological resilience.”
Professor Wijesundara supports the idea of reorganising the Rajawatte area—located away from the congested core of the university—as a future development zone. Rather than expanding inward and fragmenting remaining open spaces, he argues that Rajawatte can be planned as a well-designed extension, integrating academic, residential and service infrastructure in a controlled manner.
Crucially, he stresses that such reorganisation must go hand in hand with social responsibility, particularly towards minor staff currently living in the Rajawatte area.
“These workers are the backbone of the university. Any development plan must ensure their dignity and wellbeing,” he said. “Providing them with modern, safe and affordable multistoried housing—especially near the railway line close to the old USO premises—would be both humane and practical.”
According to Professor Wijesundara, housing complexes built near existing transport corridors would reduce daily commuting stress, minimise traffic within the campus, and free up valuable land for planned academic use.
More importantly, vertical housing would significantly reduce the university’s physical footprint.
Drawing parallels with Ranawaka’s Gannoruwa proposal, he emphasised that vertical development is no longer optional for Sri Lanka.
“We are a small island with a growing population and shrinking safe land,” he warned.
“If we continue to spread out instead of building up, disasters will become more frequent and more deadly. Vertical housing, when done properly, is environmentally sound, economically efficient and socially just.”
The veteran botanist also highlighted the often-ignored link between disaster vulnerability and the destruction of green buffers.
“Every time we clear a lowland, a wetland or a forest patch for construction, we remove nature’s shock absorbers,” he said.
“The Royal Botanic Gardens has survived floods for over a century precisely because surrounding landscapes once absorbed excess water. Urban planning must learn from such ecological wisdom.”
Professor Wijesundara believes that universities, as centres of knowledge, should lead by example.
“If an institution like Peradeniya cannot demonstrate sustainable planning, how can we expect cities to do so?” he asked. “This is an opportunity to show that development and conservation are not enemies, but partners.”
As climate-induced disasters intensify across the country, voices like his—and proposals such as those articulated by Patali Champika Ranawaka—underscore a simple but urgent truth: Sri Lanka’s future safety depends not only on disaster response, but on how and where we build today.
The challenge now lies with policymakers and planners to move beyond television studio discussions and academic warnings, and translate these ideas into concrete, people-centred action.
By Ifham Nizam ✍️
Features
Superstition – Major barrier to learning and social advancement
At the initial stage of my six-year involvement in uplifting society through skill-based initiatives, particularly by promoting handicraft work and teaching students to think creatively and independently, my efforts were partially jeopardized by deep-rooted superstition and resistance to rational learning.
Superstitions exerted a deeply adverse impact by encouraging unquestioned belief, fear, and blind conformity instead of reasoning and evidence-based understanding. In society, superstition often sustains harmful practices, social discrimination, exploitation by self-styled godmen, and resistance to scientific or social reforms, thereby weakening rational decision-making and slowing progress. When such beliefs penetrate the educational environment, students gradually lose the habit of asking “why” and “how,” accepting explanations based on fate, omens, or divine intervention rather than observation and logic.
Initially, learners became hesitant to challenge me despite my wrong interpretation of any law, less capable of evaluating information critically, and more vulnerable to misinformation and pseudoscience. As a result, genuine efforts towards social upliftment were obstructed, and the transformative power of education, which could empower individuals economically and intellectually, was weakened by fear-driven beliefs that stood in direct opposition to progress and rational thought. In many communities, illnesses are still attributed to evil spirits or curses rather than treated as medical conditions. I have witnessed educated people postponing important decisions, marriages, journeys, even hospital admissions, because an astrologer predicted an “inauspicious” time, showing how fear governs rational minds.
While teaching students science and mathematics, I have clearly observed how superstition acts as a hidden barrier to learning, critical thinking, and intellectual confidence. Many students come to the classroom already conditioned to believe that success or failure depends on luck, planetary positions, or divine favour rather than effort, practice, and understanding, which directly contradicts the scientific spirit. I have seen students hesitate to perform experiments or solve numerical problems on certain “inauspicious” days.
In mathematics, some students label themselves as “weak by birth”, which creates fear and anxiety even before attempting a problem, turning a subject of logic into a source of emotional stress. In science classes, explanations based on natural laws sometimes clash with supernatural beliefs, and students struggle to accept evidence because it challenges what they were taught at home or in society. This conflict confuses young minds and prevents them from fully trusting experimentation, data, and proof.
Worse still, superstition nurtures dependency; students wait for miracles instead of practising problem-solving, revision, and conceptual clarity. Over time, this mindset damages curiosity, reduces confidence, and limits innovation, making science and mathematics appear difficult, frightening, or irrelevant. Many science teachers themselves do not sufficiently emphasise the need to question or ignore such irrational beliefs and often remain limited to textbook facts and exam-oriented learning, leaving little space to challenge superstition directly. When teachers avoid discussing superstition, they unintentionally reinforce the idea that scientific reasoning and superstitious beliefs can coexist.
To overcome superstition and effectively impose critical thinking among students, I have inculcated the process to create a classroom culture where questioning was encouraged and fear of being “wrong” was removed. Students were taught how to think, not what to think, by consistently using the scientific method—observation, hypothesis, experimentation, evidence, and conclusion—in both science and mathematics lessons. I have deliberately challenged superstitious beliefs through simple demonstrations and hands-on experiments that allow students to see cause-and-effect relationships for themselves, helping them replace belief with proof.
Many so-called “tantrik shows” that appear supernatural can be clearly explained and exposed through basic scientific principles, making them powerful tools to fight superstition among students. For example, acts where a tantrik places a hand or tongue briefly in fire without injury rely on short contact time, moisture on the skin, or low heat transfer from alcohol-based flames rather than divine power.
“Miracles” like ash or oil repeatedly appearing from hands or idols involve concealment or simple physical and chemical tricks. When these tricks are demonstrated openly in classrooms or science programmes and followed by clear scientific explanations, students quickly realise how easily perception can be deceived and why evidence, experimentation, and critical questioning are far more reliable than blind belief.
Linking concepts to daily life, such as explaining probability to counter ideas of luck, or biology to explain illness instead of supernatural causes, makes rational explanations relatable and convincing.
Another unique example that I faced in my life is presented here. About 10 years ago, when I entered my new house but did not organise traditional rituals that many consider essential for peace and prosperity as my relatives believed that without them prosperity would be blocked. Later on, I could not utilise the entire space of my newly purchased house for earning money, largely because I chose not to perform certain rituals.
While this decision may have limited my financial gains to some extent, I do not consider it a failure in the true sense. I feel deeply satisfied that my son and daughter have received proper education and are now well settled in their employment, which, to me, is a far greater achievement than any ritual-driven expectation of wealth. My belief has always been that a house should not merely be a source of income or superstition-bound anxiety, but a space with social purpose.
Instead of rituals, I strongly feel that the unused portion of my house should be devoted to running tutorials for poor and underprivileged students, where knowledge, critical thinking, and self-reliance can be nurtured. This conviction gives me inner peace and reinforces my faith that education and service to society are more meaningful measures of success than material profit alone.
Though I have succeeded to some extent, this success has not been complete due to the persistent influence of superstition.
by Dr Debapriya Mukherjee
Former Senior Scientist
Central Pollution Control Board, India ✍️
Features
Race hate and the need to re-visit the ‘Clash of Civilizations’
Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese has done very well to speak-up against and outlaw race hate in the immediate aftermath of the recent cold-blooded gunning down of several civilians on Australia’s Bondi Beach. The perpetrators of the violence are believed to be ardent practitioners of religious and race hate and it is commendable that the Australian authorities have lost no time in clearly and unambiguously stating their opposition to the dastardly crimes in question.
The Australian Prime Minister is on record as stating in this connection: ‘ New laws will target those who spread hate, division and radicalization. The Home Affairs Minister will also be given new powers to cancel or refuse visas for those who spread hate and a new taskforce will be set up to ensure the education system prevents, tackles and properly responds to antisemitism.’
It is this promptness and single-mindedness to defeat race hate and other forms of identity-based animosities that are expected of democratic governments in particular world wide. For example, is Sri Lanka’s NPP government willing to follow the Australian example? To put the record straight, no past governments of Sri Lanka initiated concrete measures to stamp out the evil of race hate as well but the present Sri Lankan government which has pledged to end ethnic animosities needs to think and act vastly differently. Democratic and progressive opinion in Sri Lanka is waiting expectantly for the NPP government’ s positive response; ideally based on the Australian precedent to end race hate.
Meanwhile, it is apt to remember that inasmuch as those forces of terrorism that target white communities world wide need to be put down their counterpart forces among extremist whites need to be defeated as well. There could be no double standards on this divisive question of quashing race and religious hate, among democratic governments.
The question is invariably bound up with the matter of expeditiously and swiftly advancing democratic development in divided societies. To the extent to which a body politic is genuinely democratized, to the same degree would identity based animosities be effectively managed and even resolved once and for all. To the extent to which a society is deprived of democratic governance, correctly understood, to the same extent would it experience unmanageable identity-bred violence.
This has been Sri Lanka’s situation and generally it could be stated that it is to the degree to which Sri Lankan citizens are genuinely constitutionally empowered that the issue of race hate in their midst would prove manageable. Accordingly, democratic development is the pressing need.
While the dramatic blood-letting on Bondi Beach ought to have driven home to observers and commentators of world politics that the international community is yet to make any concrete progress in the direction of laying the basis for an end to identity-based extremism, the event should also impress on all concerned quarters that continued failure to address the matters at hand could prove fatal. The fact of the matter is that identity-based extremism is very much alive and well and that it could strike devastatingly at a time and place of its choosing.
It is yet premature for the commentator to agree with US political scientist Samuel P. Huntingdon that a ‘Clash of Civilizations’ is upon the world but events such as the Bondi Beach terror and the continuing abduction of scores of school girls by IS-related outfits, for instance, in Northern Africa are concrete evidence of the continuing pervasive presence of identity-based extremism in the global South.
As a matter of great interest it needs mentioning that the crumbling of the Cold War in the West in the early nineties of the last century and the explosive emergence of identity-based violence world wide around that time essentially impelled Huntingdon to propound the hypothesis that the world was seeing the emergence of a ‘Clash of Civilizations’. Basically, the latter phrase implied that the Cold War was replaced by a West versus militant religious fundamentalism division or polarity world wide. Instead of the USSR and its satellites, the West, led by the US, had to now do battle with religion and race-based militant extremism, particularly ‘Islamic fundamentalist violence’ .
Things, of course, came to a head in this regard when the 9/11 calamity centred in New York occurred. The event seemed to be startling proof that the world was indeed faced with a ‘Clash of Civilizations’ that was not easily resolvable. It was a case of ‘Islamic militant fundamentalism’ facing the great bulwark, so to speak, of ‘ Western Civilization’ epitomized by the US and leaving it almost helpless.
However, it was too early to write off the US’ capability to respond, although it did not do so by the best means. Instead, it replied with military interventions, for example, in Iraq and Afghanistan, which moves have only earned for the religious fundamentalists more and more recruits.
Yet, it is too early to speak in terms of a ‘Clash of Civilizations’. Such a phenomenon could be spoken of if only the entirety of the Islamic world took up arms against the West. Clearly, this is not so because the majority of the adherents of Islam are peaceably inclined and want to coexist harmoniously with the rest of the world.
However, it is not too late for the US to stop religious fundamentalism in its tracks. It, for instance, could implement concrete measures to end the blood-letting in the Middle East. Of the first importance is to end the suffering of the Palestinians by keeping a tight leash on the Israeli Right and by making good its boast of rebuilding the Gaza swiftly.
Besides, the US needs to make it a priority aim to foster democratic development worldwide in collaboration with the rest of the West. Military expenditure and the arms race should be considered of secondary importance and the process of distributing development assistance in the South brought to the forefront of its global development agenda, if there is one.
If the fire-breathing religious demagogue’s influence is to be blunted worldwide, then, it is development, understood to mean equitable growth, that needs to be fostered and consolidated by the democratic world. In other words, the priority ought to be the empowerment of individuals and communities. Nothing short of the latter measures would help in ushering a more peaceful world.
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