Features

Revisiting the UNP’s Lost Generation: Reflections on Sri Lanka’s Recent Political History through the lens of Prof. Rajiva Wijesinha

Published

1 year ago

2025/03/2

Seated left to Right: M.H. Mohamed, CPJ Senewiratne, NGP Panditaratne, Lalith Athulathmudali, Cyril Mathew, Harsha Abeywardene, JR Jayewardene, Gamini Dissanayake, Anandatissa de Alwis (May 1983)

By Avishka Mario Senewiratne,
Editor of The Ceylon Journal

Last December, Prof. Rajiva Wijesinha released a new book titled Ranil Wickremesinghe and the Emasculation of the United National Party. As the title suggests, the book tackles a contentious and provocative topic and may not be an easy read for everyone. Nevertheless, it presents a highly engaging and insightful narrative that warrants close attention. While much of the information may not be entirely new, the context and storytelling offer fresh perspectives and raise critical questions about Sri Lanka’s recent history.

The book is structured into four accessible chapters, with the first, titled “The Lost Generations of the UNP,” piquing interest by exploring important aspects of the party’s history that have often been overlooked. This article should be seen as a preliminary commentary on the first chapter. The chapter itself presents a series of short biographical sketches, focusing mainly on the political journeys of key figures within the United National Party (UNP), and how their careers were shaped by events such as assassination, early retirement, party defection, or resignation. However, the chapter could have been greatly improved with a brief historical overview of the UNP as an introduction. Founded in 1947, the UNP has often been referred to as the “Grand Old Party of Sri Lanka.” While it won the 1947 and 1952 elections, the party reached its lowest point in 1956, securing just eight seats in Parliament. In the 1950s, the UNP earned the nickname “Uncle Nephew Party,” a reference to the party’s perceived nepotism. Nevertheless, the UNP made notable comebacks in 1960 and again in 1965, after being in opposition from 1956 to 1965, except for the brief period between the March and July elections of 1960. In 1970, despite securing the plurality of the popular vote in the General Election, the UNP ended up with only 17 seats, leading Dudley Senanayake, the Prime Minister at the time, to take a backseat in the Opposition. This allowed J. R. Jayewardene to take control of the opposition, with Senanayake remaining the UNP leader.

After Dudley’s sudden death in 1973, Jayewardene assumed leadership of the party. In 1977, the UNP won a historic victory, securing a five sixths super majority in Parliament, reducing the Sri Lanka Freedom Party (SLFP) to just eight seats, and leaving the Leftist parties without representation. Under J. R. Jayewardene’s leadership, several skilled and effective politicians joined the Cabinet, which has been widely regarded as one of the most efficient in post-colonial Sri Lanka, particularly in managing the economy, fostering development, and strengthening foreign relations.

JR and Dudley, 1965

However, the Cabinet faced significant criticism for its handling of the ethnic conflict, which eventually led to a 26-year civil war. This issue has remained a central point of debate, overshadowing the Cabinet’s achievements. Between 1970 and 1977, the UNP lost some of its most well-known and renowned leaders such as Dudley Senanayake, M. D. Banda, U. B. Wanninayake, I. M. R. A. Iriyagolla, Paris Perera and V. A. Sugathadasa. C. P. de Silva, Philip Gunawardena, Murugesu Tiruchelvam Q. C. though not UNPers, but serving in the previous UNP regime’s Cabinet, passed away in the said period. Though elected in 1977, S. de S. Jayasinghe and Shelton Jayasinghe passed away within a year of the new government.

This left the UNP with a dominant senior member, J. R. Jayewardene, who was elected Prime Minister and then with the new Constitution, became the Executive President. There were hardly any other senior UNPers apart from Montague Jayawickrema, Edwin Hurulle and M. D. H. Jayawardene. Essentially, there was little internal opposition within the UNP to J. R. Jayewardene’s actions regarding the creation of a new constitution, the establishment of the executive presidency, the events surrounding the referendum and the many troubles of the 80s. The few who voiced dissent on these matters—M. D. H. Jayawardene and Dr. Neville Fernando—were compelled to resign from their positions well before the end of their terms.

In this context, a new generation of politicians entered the UNP cabinet, bringing with them a blend of backgrounds and political experiences. Several key members of this cabinet are discussed in detail in Wijesinha’s first chapter on the “lost generation.” The 1977/78 UNP cabinets were notably diverse, with some members having roots in the SLFP, such as Gamini Dissanayake whose father had been a prominent SLFPer. Gamini himself first attempted to contest as a SLFPer in 1970. But upon his failing to get that that party’s ticket, he contested and won under the UNP. Ronnie de Mel, who had been aligned with the SLFP until 1975, was also a significant figure in this cabinet.

R. Premadasa, the Prime Minister, came from the Labour Party. The cabinet also included seasoned UNPer Wimala Kannangara, the only woman member, and Bill Devanayagam, the only Tamil representative, along with Shahul Hameed and M. H. Mohamed, the Muslim members. All four were entrusted with influential portfolios. Then there were newcomers to politics such as Nissanka Wijeyeratne, formerly of the Ceylon Civil Service who had fallen out with Mrs. Bandaranaike, and Lalith Athulathmudali, who had a flourishing legal practice.

Ronnie de Mel with Gamini Dissanayake and Upali Wijeywardene

The cabinet comprised a mix of old-fashioned UNPers, such as Maj. Montague Jayawickrema, Edwin Hurulle, E. L. Senanayake, Vincent Perera and Capt. C. P. J. Senewiratne, alongside more moderate figures like Anandatissa de Alwis, D. B. Wijetunga, Asoka Karunaratne, Gamini Jayasuriya, Ranjith Atapattu, and S. B. Herath. Cyril Mathew and Wijeyapala Mendis, more controversial figures, did not clearly fit into either category. Ranil Wickremasinghe, J. R. Jayewardene’s trusted nephew, remains today the sole surviving and active member of this Cabinet. Outside Parliament, Upali Wijewardena, who was speculated to enter both Parliament and the Cabinet before his disappearance in 1983, was another prominent figure. Abdul Bakeer Marker was made Speaker and later when E. L. Senanayke succeeded him, he became a Minister without a Portfolio. Though not a UNPer, S. Thondaman who was loyal to JR, found a Cabinet position as well.

Thus, JR Jayewardene’s cabinet was notably diverse, comprising individuals from varied political backgrounds, affiliations and experiences. As Wijesinha aptly notes, many of these figures were determined to pursue long political careers, with some even considered potential candidates for the presidency of Sri Lanka. What is particularly intriguing to the reader of Wijesinha’s first chapter are the significant, yet lesser-known aspects of the individuals discussed. It is questionable whether any political scientist, journalist, or historian has explored the perspectives and angles that Wijesinha addresses. Limited attention has been given to the ten individuals featured, including President Premadasa, whose biographies are often characterized by a somewhat romanticized portrayal or a hyper-critical portrait rather than a thorough, critical analysis.

Objectively speaking, all these individuals played vital roles in shaping modern Sri Lanka despite all controversy. Scholars should follow Wijesinha’s approach by critically examining and analyzing their subjects individually or collectively. Premadasa’s rise, first as Minister under Dudley Senanayake and later as Prime Minister under JR, is well-documented. Wijesinha concurs that Premadasa, with his appeal to the common man and success in programs like Gam Udawa, was the ideal candidate to succeed JR. Despite the challenges of the Civil War, the JVP insurrection, and internal party controversies, Premadasa oversaw significant economic growth. His assassination in 1993, just before his term’s end, curtailed his full potential.

JR’s Cabinet by Younus, Aththa 1980 March 19

One of the notable revelations in Wijesinha’s book, though not entirely undisclosed, is the power struggle among three prominent figures: Ronnie de Mel, Lalith Athulathmudali, and Upali Wijewardene. The former two were regarded as the most intellectually formidable members of J. R. Jayewardene’s Cabinet, and their rivalry was marked by intense animosity over policy matters and political positioning. Meanwhile, Upali Wijewardene, perceived as among the wealthiest individuals in the country at the time, was poised to enter the political arena. Ronnie de Mel achieved a significant milestone by balancing the national budget for eleven consecutive years, demonstrating a level of fiscal management unmatched by his predecessors or successors.

However, at the end of JR’s presidency, de Mel grew disillusioned with Ranasinghe Premadasa’s leadership and subsequently left the country. Although he returned to the legislature and remained politically active until 2004, he never recaptured the influence he once held under JR. Furthermore, JR’s most loyal confidante, Gamini Dissanayake, as noted by Wijesinha, initially expressed dissatisfaction with his assigned portfolio of “Irrigation, Power, and Highways.” Wijesinha’s father, Sam Wijesinha, who was then the Secretary General of the Parliament explained to the young Gamini the importance of his ministry that had been previously served by stalwarts like D. S., Dudley, Maithripala Senanayake and C. P. de Silva. Later, Gamini played a key role in implementing the Accelerated Mahaweli Development Project and in advancing Sri Lanka’s Test cricket status. Wijesinha also highlights Gamini’s presence in Jaffna in 1981 during the burning of the library, noting his subsequent shift toward a more moderate stance.

Lalith Athulathmudali, who held significant government portfolios, including Shipping and Trade and, later, National Security during the onset of the civil conflict, was regarded as one of the most respected politicians of his era. Wijesinghe notes that Lalith, an admirer of Singapore’s development, played a pivotal role in transforming the Colombo Port into one of the most efficient in Asia. Alongside Gamini Dissanayake, Lalith gained substantial popularity during the late 1970s and 1980s, fueling their aspirations for future presidential roles. By the end of 1988, however, it became evident that Premadasa was the leading contender to succeed JR. Both Lalith and Gamini supported Premadasa’s 1988 presidential campaign and hoping that one of them would be appointed Prime Minister in his administration. Instead, Premadasa appointed D. B. Wijetunga, causing significant discord within the UNP.

By 1991, escalating internal tensions led Lalith, Gamini, and other UNP backbenchers, in collaboration with the SLFP, to attempt to impeach President Premadasa. This effort ultimately failed, resulting in their exit from Parliament. Lalith and Gamini then created their own party. Tragically, Lalith was assassinated shortly before Premadasa, and Gamini (who had returned to the UNP) had a similar fate in 1994, just weeks before the presidential election in which he was the UNP’s candidate. Their untimely deaths ended two promising political careers.

Two individuals from Wijesinha’s “lost generation” are Dr. Ranjit Atapattu and Gamini Jayasuriya, both described by the author as “honest politicians” with similar temperaments. Atapattu was not assigned a significant portfolio until the 1982 cabinet reshuffle, when he became Minister of Health. Many would remember and acclaim that Atapattu was one of the most productive and enterprising Health Ministers of the 20^th century. Despite his discomfort with some party policies, such as the Peace Accord with India, he remained loyal to the party and was later reappointed as Minister under Premadasa. However, he left politics in 1990 to join the UN, and as Wijesinha notes, his potential remained unfulfilled, with at least another decade of service left. Gamini Jayasuriya, a seasoned politician and direct descendant of Anagarika Dharmapala, with a strong streak of nationalism could not agree with JRJ’s Indo-Lankan Accord. Ever the gentleman, he resigned both from the cabinet and parliament in 1987 and never returned to politics.

Though Wijesinha names Shahul Hameed as one of those of “the lost generation”, both under JR and Premadasa, he received much prominence and died while serving an Opposition MP in 1999. It could be argued that he would have had a prominent role in the 2001-2004 UNP regime, had he lived.

Premadasa and Cooray

B. Sirisena Cooray, a significant figure in the book, served as Mayor of Colombo for ten years during JR’s presidency but gained prominence only under Premadasa. A trusted confidante of Premadasa for nearly 40 years, Cooray became one of the most powerful ministers in his regime. Wijesinha observes that Cooray entered politics solely to support Premadasa, feeling no reason to remain active after the latter’s assassination. Wijesinha expresses his perspective on the various alleged conspiracies that Cooray was involved in during the 80s and 90s.

The author recounts a striking anecdote on page 20: “…when I went along with Chanaka (Amaratunga) to the funeral I was astonished to see what seemed an almost festive atmosphere. It was clear the senior leadership of the UNP felt no sorrow at all, and D. B. Wijetunga who was Acting President seemed more pleased at the advancement he had received than sad at the death of the man who had pushed him much higher than he deserved. And then Hema Premadasa made an extraordinary speech in which she seemed to be offering herself as her husband’s successor… as we were leaving, I noticed a man sitting by himself, tears pouring down his face. That, Chanaka, told me, was Sirisena Cooray, and I realized then that was a man of deep feeling, and his devotion to Premadasa was absolute.”

After Premadasa’s assassination, Cooray withdrew from active politics, even when he was offered the position of Prime Minister, resigning as UNP secretary, though his influence within the Colombo Municipality, as noted by Wijesinha, persisted well into the 21st century.

Dr. Gamini Wijesekera is another individual discussed by Wijesinha. As the author writes, he was less well-known then and is virtually forgotten today. Wijesekera was the General Secretary of the UNP and was a “gentleman”, who did not stoop into thuggery or corruption. A medical doctor turned politician, Wijesekera was one who played with a straight bat. He lost his first bid to parliament in a by-election in Maharagama in 1983. The winner of this election was Dinesh Gunawardena, who was heartily wished well by the defeated Wijesekera. As Wijesinha notes, Wijesekera later left the UNP disillusioned by some of its policies and formed Eksath Lanka Jathika Peramuna (ELJP) with Rukman Senanayake and A. C. Gooneratne. Wijesinha notes the interesting work of the ELJP, now a forgotten entity.

Fast forwarding to 1994, Wijesekera was back in the UNP camp and surprisingly replaced Sirisena Cooray as Secretary. In 1994, UNP lost its 17-year grip in power when the SLFP under Chandrika Bandaranaike Kumaratunga won narrowly in the General Election. However, three months later, Gamini Dissanayake was named the UNP candidate for the Presidency and ran an enthusiastic campaign, though CBK was eventually victorious. Wijesekera campaigned heavily for Dissanayake but ironically was one of the many prominent UNPers who perished in the Thotalanga bomb explosion with Gamini Dissanayake.

These were the ten individuals who Wijesinha examines as the “Lost Generation of the UNP”. A few others, who he hasn’t shed much light can be added to this list and dealt later by himself or another scholar. These include Dr. Neville Fernando, Shelton Ranaraja, M. D. H. Jayawardena as well as Ranjan Wijeyeratne and Harsha Abeywardena, who were assassinated. With all of these individuals, virtually losing their place in the UNP, it is not surprising that its next leader would be Wijesinha’s first cousin (mother’s brother’s son), Ranil Wickremasinghe, the subject of Wijesinha’s book, whom he discusses in length in the subsequent chapters of this book, which are not subject to this review. Just as JR became powerful in the 70s, his nephew Ranil Wickremasinghe had hardly any opposition within his Party.

Wijesinha’s approach is both engaging and accessible, skillfully combining anecdotal storytelling, humor, and incisive analysis. Due to his personal connections and familial ties with prominent figures of the UNP, most aspects of his account can be regarded as particularly reliable. This blend of narrative techniques contributes to a compelling story that captivates the reader, making his work not only enjoyable but also intellectually stimulating. The opening chapter of Rajiva Wijesinha’s book merits commendation for its content and narrative style. Moreover, it invites further research and publication on several related topics. For example, many political parties have formally or informally documented their histories.

Notable works in this regard include Prof. Wiswa Warnapala’s study of the Sri Lanka Freedom Party (SLFP), Leslie Goonawardena’s account of the Lanka Sama Samaja Party (LSSP), and Wijesinha’s own writings on the Liberal Party. These accounts, authored by prominent figures within their respective parties, naturally reflect their authors’ biases. However, the history and development of the UNP remains fragmented, with no comprehensive exploration undertaken either by Party members or external scholars. While Wijesinha has addressed this topic in part, a thorough and cohesive history of the UNP remains absent.

In this context, each of the individuals from the “lost generation” of Sri Lankan politics warrants a distinct and balanced biography. Additionally, projects such as the Mahaweli Development Scheme, the Greater Colombo Economic Commission, the Mahapola Scholarship Project, and Gam Udawa deserve scholarly scrutiny and analysis in future research. Should these suggestions be realized, they could significantly contribute to the literature essential for understanding a critical aspect of Sri Lanka’s recent history.

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Features

High Stakes in Pursuing corruption cases

Published

10 hours ago

2026/05/12

Sahan Weerasooriya

Kapila Chandrasena

The death of the most important suspect in the Sri Lankan Airlines Airbus deal has drawn intense public speculation. Kapila Chandrasena the former CEO of the heavily loss-making national airline was found dead under circumstances that the police are still investigating.

He had recently been arrested by the Commission to Investigate Allegations of Bribery or Corruption in connection with the controversial Airbus aircraft purchase agreement signed in 2013. Police investigations are continuing into the cause of death and whether or not he committed suicide. The unresolved death brings to light the high stakes involved in accountability efforts of this nature.

The uncertainty surrounding Chandrasena’s death has revived public memories of other mysterious deaths linked to corruption investigations and public scandals. Among them is the death of Rajeewa Jayaweera, a former SriLankan Airlines executive and outspoken critic of the Airbus transaction. He was following in the tradition of his father, the late foreign service officer and public servant Stanley Jayaweera who mentored the younger generation in good governance practices and formed the group “Avadhi Lanka” along with icons such as Prof Siri Hettige. Rajeewa had written a series of articles exposing irregularities in the deal before he was found dead near Independence Square in Colombo in 2020. The CCTV cameras in that high security area were turned off. Questions raised at that time whether or not he had committed suicide were not satisfactorily resolved.

The controversy about the cause of Chandrasena’s death is diverting attention away from the massive damage done to the country by the SriLankan Airlines deal itself. The value of the aircraft agreement was close to the size of the International Monetary Fund bailout package that Sri Lanka desperately needed by 2023 in order to stabilise the economy after bankruptcy. Sri Lanka’s IMF Extended Fund Facility amounted to about USD 3 billion spread over four years. The comparison shows the scale of the losses and liabilities that irresponsible and corrupt decisions have imposed on the country and which must never happen again.

Wider Pattern

The corruption linked to the Airbus transaction came fully into the open only because of investigations conducted outside Sri Lanka. In 2020 Airbus agreed to pay record penalties of more than EUR 3.6 billion to authorities in Britain, France and the United States to settle global corruption investigations. Sri Lanka was identified as one of the countries where bribes had allegedly been paid in order to secure contracts. The Airbus deal involved the purchase of six A330 aircraft and four A350 aircraft valued at approximately USD 2.3 billion. Investigations showed that Airbus paid bribes amounting to nearly USD 16 million in order to secure the contract. According to court submissions, at least part of this money amounting to USD 2 million was transferred through a shell company registered in Brunei and routed through Singapore bank accounts linked to the late airline CEO and his wife.

The commissions involved in this deal may seem comparatively small compared to the overall value of the contracts but devastating in their consequences. But they also show that a few million dollars paid secretly to decision makers could lead to the country assuming liabilities worth hundreds of millions or even billions of dollars over decades. This is why corruption is not simply a moral issue. It is a direct economic assault on the living standards of ordinary people. Money lost through corruption is money unavailable for schools, hospitals, rural development and job creation. In the end the burden falls on ordinary citizens who are left to repay debts incurred in their name without receiving commensurate benefits in return.

The SriLankan Airlines transaction gives an indication of the wider pattern of corruption and misuse of national resources that has taken place over many years. This was not an isolated incident. There were numerous large scale infrastructure and procurement projects that imposed heavy debts on the country while enriching politically connected individuals and their associates. Other projects such as the Colombo Port City, Hambantota Harbour and highway construction reveal a similar pattern.

Less publicised but equally damaging scandals have involved fertiliser medicine and energy contracts. Investigations into medicine procurement in recent years uncovered allegations that substandard pharmaceuticals had been imported at inflated prices causing both financial losses and risks to public health.

Moral Renewal

The present government appears determined to investigate major corruption cases in a manner that no previous government has attempted. Those who ransacked and bankrupted the treasury need to be dealt with according to the law. There is considerable public support for efforts to recover stolen assets and ensure accountability.

In his May Day speech President Anura Kumara Dissanayake stated that around 14 corruption cases were nearing completion in the courts this very month and called upon the public to applaud when verdicts are delivered. Political opponents of the government claim that such comments could place pressure on the judiciary and blur the separation between political leadership and the courts. But the deeper public frustration that underlies the president’s remarks also needs to be understood.

The challenge facing Sri Lanka is twofold. The country must ensure that justice is done through due process and independent institutions. If anti corruption campaigns become politicised they can lose legitimacy. But if corruption and abuse of power continue without consequences the country will remain trapped in a cycle of economic decline and moral decay. Sri Lanka also needs to confront past abuses linked to the war period. There are allegations of kidnapping, extortion, disappearances and criminal activity in which members of the security forces have been implicated. Vulnerable sections of the population suffered greatly during those years. If political leaders turned a blind eye or actively connived in such crimes they too need to be held accountable under the law. Selective justice will not heal the country. Accountability must apply across the board regardless of political position, ethnicity or institutional power.

Sri Lanka has paid a very heavy price for corruption and impunity. The economic collapse of 2022 did not occur overnight. It was the result of years of bad governance, reckless decision making, abuse of power and the misuse of public wealth. If the country is to move forward the focus cannot be diverted by sensational speculation alone. Suspicious deaths and political intrigue may dominate headlines for a few days. But the larger issue is the system that enabled corruption to flourish without accountability for so long. The real national task is to end that system. Sri Lanka cannot build a prosperous future on a foundation of corruption and impunity. Unless those who looted public wealth are held accountable and the systems that enabled them are dismantled, the country risks repeating the same cycle again.

Jehan Perera

Features

When University systems fail:Supreme Court’s landmark intervention in sexual harassment case

Published

10 hours ago

2026/05/12

Sahan Weerasooriya

Over seven years after making an initial complaint of sexual harassment against her research supervisor, Dr. Udari Abeyasinghe, then a temporary lecturer and now a senior lecturer at the University of Peradeniya, has been finally served justice. On May 8, 2026, the Supreme Court made the following directions regarding Udari’s fundamental rights case: “1) The 1st Respondent [her research supervisor] is prohibited from accepting any post, whether paid or not or honorary, in any university, educational institute or other academic institution; 2) The UGC to issue a direction to all universities and other institutions, coming under its purview, to abstain from giving any appointment, whether paid or not, or honorary, to the 1st Respondent; and 3) The University of Peradeniya, including the Council and respective Respondent [sic], are directed to take appropriate measures to enforce and raise awareness of the University of Peradeniya’s policy on Sexual or Gender-Based Harassment and Sexual Violence for staff and students, including conducting mandatory annual seminars for all academics, staff and students.” I recently spoke with Udari to learn about her experience battling the University’s sexual and gender-based violence (SGBV) procedures.

Violence and injustice

Udari was a temporary lecturer when she began working on her MPhil degree. Her research supervisor was a Senior Professor and Dean of her faculty. The harassment began in 2017.

When Udari reached out for support to the SGBV Committee of the University of Peradeniya, the Chair explained the complaint procedure, including how a third party could make a complaint on her behalf. In July 2018, Udari’s mother made a written complaint to the Vice Chancellor (VC). “The very next day [my supervisor] called me … and asked me to withdraw the complaint because it would look bad for me … the university should have taken measures to separate the complainant from the perpetrator … but nothing like that happened.”

Before making the formal complaint, Udari reached out to other academic staff at her Faculty. She shared her experience with a few close colleagues. Many advised her to leave the Faculty. “No one in the Faculty supported me publicly, although some sympathised privately … I was a temporary lecturer … no one really cared.” Some of her colleagues and non-academic staff who knew about the harassments, asked her to avoid involving them because they feared retaliation from higher powers.

Udari faced a preliminary inquiry and then a formal inquiry. The preliminary inquiry took place about four months after her complaint, and the inquiry committee recommended proceeding to a formal inquiry. The latter was held about a year after the initial complaint. “I got to know unofficially that [my supervisor] had got hold of all the statements made at the preliminary inquiry and pressured some colleagues to change their statements before the formal inquiry.” During the time of the formal inquiry, an anonymous letter (“kala paththaraya”) was circulated among staff: “It was a character assassination … the same kala paththaraya would get circulated from time to time.” After the formal inquiry committee submitted its report and recommendations, Udari was informed, in writing, that the University Council had dismissed the report.

“Neither the preliminary inquiry report nor the formal inquiry report were shared with me … I had to make a formal request to the VC and only then did I get a copy of the preliminary inquiry report… I had to get the formal inquiry report through an RTI (a request under the Right to Information Act). What I understand is that [my supervisor] had influenced the Council … that’s why they rejected the report…saying there had been a delay of six months to make a complaint ….” (N. B. there are no time limitations for submitting a complaint in the SGBV by-laws of the University of Peradeniya, although such time bars exist at other universities).

Udari then submitted formal complaints to the University Grants Commission (August 2020) and the Human Rights Commission of Sri Lanka (December 2020), and finally filed a fundamental rights case at the Supreme Court in March 2021. Five years later, on May 8th 2026, Udari’s complaint was vindicated.

University procedures and inquiries

When her mother submitted the complaint against her supervisor, Udari was a temporary lecturer. She had given up her dream of pursuing an academic career because she did not think she would be recruited to a permanent position after making a complaint against a faculty member. It is encouraging that Udari was recruited, but in most instances, students and junior staff endure and stay silent to avoid jeopardising their academic careers. We currently have no procedures in place at universities to protect victims and witnesses from backlash.

According to Udari, the former Chair of the SGBV Committee and the members of her preliminary inquiry panel played a crucial role in her case, and, in her words, “could not be influenced.” But SGBV by-laws at state universities place inordinate power in the hands of the Council and VC. According to the SGBV by-laws of the University of Peradeniya, the Council appoints the 15-member SGBV Committee comprising “[t]wo (02) persons from among the members of the Council; [t]en (10) persons drawn from the permanent and senior members of the academic community; and [t]hree (03) persons external to the University, from among the retired academic or administrative staff of the University” (Section 2.1). While the by-laws recommend appointing persons who have demonstrated “gender-sensitivity, proven interest in working on issues of gender equality and equity, and trained to investigate and inquire into cases of sexual or gender-based harassment and sexual violence” (Section 2.1), we know this is often not the case. In many universities, VCs control which cases are taken up and end up in an inquiry. Most students and staff at state universities have little faith in the existing SGBV complaint procedures.

As Udari experienced, the decisions of inquiry committees can be overruled and dismissed by University Councils, indicating the importance of appointing appropriate members to the Councils. The Deans of faculties, who are Ex-officio members, usually collude to protect their own interests and fiefdoms, while the appointment of external members to Councils is deeply politicised. At present, there is no application process or vetting of candidates before they are appointed. They are usually persons who are seen to be sympathetic to the incumbent political dispensation. Furthermore, external members are dependent on the university hierarchy for information on the issues being discussed, the details of which are often hidden from them. It is not surprising then that University Councils would adjudicate on the side of power.

Final recommendation

Beyond barring Udari’s former research supervisor from holding positions in the university system, the Supreme Court has directed the University of Peradeniya to raise awareness on SGBV among staff and students. While SGBV is addressed in the induction courses and orientation programmes at universities, staff and students must be made aware of the nitty-gritties of complaint procedures, including time bars, which were crucial to the outcome of Udari’s case. But is raising awareness sufficient? Do we have ways to hold university authorities accountable for arbitrary and/or prejudicial decision-making and other abuses of power?

For Udari, life continues to be difficult, with constant surveillance of her activities.

“In November 2024 , I shared a post about my case.. it was a newspaper article stating that the Supreme Court had granted leave to proceed… I just took a photograph of it and posted it on my Facebook without any captions… a few weeks later I was summoned by higher authorities…I was informed that several academics had verbally complained about me using my social media to tarnish the name of the faculty and the university and, if that’s the case, that I should know that the University Council has the authority to take action against me … we also spoke briefly about the case and at one point I was told that this incident (harassment) happened to me because I showed some positivity towards (the perpetrator) …”

Let’s hope that university administrations pause before victimising and revictimising SGBV survivors in future. As a community, we have to rethink the hierarchical ways in which universities function and create a meaningful mechanism that supports students and staff to complain without fear of repercussion.

Thank you, Udari, for taking this step forward. University administrations will have to stop, listen and change their ways.

(Ramya Kumar is attached to the Department of Community and Family Medicine, Faculty of Medicine, University of Jaffna, and is an alumna of the University of Peradeniya).

Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies.

By Ramya Kumar

Features

‘Nidahase’ in the spotlight

Published

10 hours ago

2026/05/12

Sahan Weerasooriya

Senani Wijesena, the Sri Lankan-Australian singer-songwriter, known for fusion pop/R&B with ethnic elements, like the tabla and sitar, is in the news again.

She was featured in The Island, in early April (2026), regarding her career in the music scene, and the release of her first ever Sinhala song ‘Nidahase.’

The song was released in Sri Lanka, on 17th April, with Senani in town to do the needful.

The music video was filmed at the Polgampola Waterfall, in Sri Lanka, and also features co-star Senura Ambegoda … playing the romantic interest.

Describing the setup, Senani had this to say:

“To achieve the high falls scenes, I had to climb large rocks and slippery edges to get to the top of the falls, and I had to do it in the yellow saree I was wearing. Of course the film crew assisted me.”

The initial scenes were filmed in bustling Pettah where Senani meets co-star Senura Ambegoda, working in a street stall, and when their eyes meet it triggers a memory of soul connection and transports her into another world entering the forest scene.

The forest, says Senani, symbolically represented a retreat to nature and peace.

The couple later rejoin at Colombo City Centre where they danced together and enjoyed each other’s company.

Says Senani: “The short dance routine was created on the spot, on set. Senura is a dance teacher, as well as a model and actor, and we learnt the routine, in 10 minutes, before it was filmed.”

‘Nidahase’ means Freedom in English – about being free in life, love, expression and movement.

It’s, in fact, a reworked version of her highly successful English song ‘Free’ which was nominated for a Hollywood Music In Media award in the RNB/Soul category, and also reached the Top 20 of the Music Week Dance charts in the UK.

‘Nidahase’ can be heard on all streaming platforms, including Spotify, Apple Music and Amazon.

Senani’s YouTube channel is www.youtube.com/senanimusic

Her social media pages are: www.instagram.com/senanimusic and www.facebook.com/senanimusic. Her website is www.senani.com

For the record, Senani is the daughter of film actress Jeevarani Kurukulasuriya and Dr Lanka Wijesena.