Opinion
The Man of Measure at University of Peradeniya
Prof. N. D. Samarawickreme (1943-2022)
We owe our existence to a string of unforeseeable events, repeated arbitrary fortune. My father was born in a rural part of the country. He was the eldest of ten siblings, who survived the circumstances and transitioned out of the village. The privileged upbringing and opportunities I had stand in stark contrast to his experience. That I exist is a tribute to his journey.
The journey from a spirited child growing up in the shade of the Sinharaja, to an economics professor in lifetime service of the hallowed institution in the Hantane valley, is replete with coincidences. From having a chance to attend school, deciding to compete at the university entrance exam, entering Peradeniya, placing for overseas post-graduate work, and accepting an academic position at Peradeniya – he rolled with the tide, never afraid of new adventures.
Growing up in an area only accessible by footbridges that crisscrossed the Gin Ganga, his early childhood was idyllic. Days filled with helping out in paddy fields, climbing trees, and swimming in the streams with friends. Getting an education required a four mile walk to find transport to the nearest school. And so his destiny was to become a farmer, a natural vocation for that village. But he was evidently a handful at home, and a decision was made to send him away to live with his maternal uncle, to be educated. His uncle’s generosity allowed my father to first attend Pallegama Maha Vidyalaya and later Deniyaya Central College, with home visits for school vacations.
The quietude and discipline at his uncle’s house fostered a lifelong symbiotic relationship with education. In an era of poverty, malaria, no running water and no electricity, to say that Dr. CWW Kannangara’s 1944 educational reforms were pivotal in my father’s life, is no exaggeration. The success of the central college system in Sri Lanka propelled him, and many of his colleagues, to greater heights. Interestingly, my father had an elegant grasp of the English language in secondary school. English medium education and testing was still available outside of private schools during his time. Unfortunately, this changed with the disastrous 1956 language policy. My father often spoke fondly about the important role of his English teacher at Deniyaya Central.
He entered university in the 1960s during what was undoubtedly a golden era of Sri Lankan university life. Comfortable hostel rooms, fulsome served meals, an enlightened teaching faculty eager to foster learning in the best traditions of Western education, and picturesque facilities – a Utopia. As he recounted to me, he travelled alone by bus to Peradeniya to start his studentship, having left home via Galle and made a pitstop for the night in Colombo. It was the first time he had been beyond Colombo. His initiation into university life started as he arrived at THE Galaha junction. On the instructions of seniors, he rolled up his trousers and walked all the way to the Arts faculty with his suitcase on his head. A few days later, he was in a group that got locked up overnight in the medical faculty – anatomy dissection room. Peradeniya was a whole new world for him.
The opportunity to study at the University of Peradeniya was a game changer for my father. After graduation he spent time studying and working overseas, but kept coming back to Peradeniya. And so began a lifelong relationship with the institution and the location. He rose through the ranks of academia, settled down close by, and was an active contributor to the university even in retirement. Then came his untimely and most unfortunate passing, for he was fit as a fiddle for his age.
It was a perfect storm that led to his demise. The first strike was receiving the SinoPharm COVID-19 vaccine followed by an extended wait for a booster dose, effectively leaving him vulnerable. The second was the Omicron variant sweeping across the country. Third, inadvertently receiving the booster dose while at the onset of a COVID-19 infection, thereby making him ignore symptoms as normal side effects of the booster. This delayed admissiion to the hospital.
Watching my father slip away over the course of a week, so close and yet so distant, was agonising. COVID era regulations dictated my father be in isolated care without family visitation. Fortunately, my brother was the designated in-ward caregiver and was able to comfort my father through his last moments. While my brother and I could understand what was unfolding, preparing my mother was a difficult proposition. She had last seen my father walking out of the house under his own power to see the doctor. I don’t know how or why, but she seemed to steel herself to the outcome.
COVID era regulations meant that funeral arrangements had to be completed within a day; the body was held at the hospital in a closed casket and transported to the crematorium by hospital staff. Family and friends didn’t get time or space to grieve. It didn’t need to be that way. The pain of having to say our goodbyes in a rushed and impersonal environment is something we share with countless other families who had to endure the same.
In Sri Lanka, in 1950, an estimated 13% of children would die on average before reaching five years of age. In a remote corner of the Sinharaja, in 1943, that statistic was most probably higher. My father’s work ethic and determination needed luck and opportunity. The odds were not in his favour. That he became the person he was, leaves me in awe. One year since his passing the void still remains.
SACHITHRA SAMARAWICKRAME
Opinion
Prisoners are human beings
In developed countries such as US, prisons are normally built, far away from City Areas because of the risk of prison breaking as happened recently in Negombo. For an example, just imagine what would be the fate of people around Colombo, if an attempt to break the jail in Welikada become a success. Therefore, it is necessary to introduce strategies to discipline our prisoners to behave as humans rather than simply displaying above message to the people living outside of the prison, as happened in Sri Lanka. To materialised above idea. it is necessary discipline prisoners mentally before they are released. As a Buddhist country we could develop our own model based on Buddhist Stanza such as Wanaropa Sutta to mentally discipline the prisoners. According to that Stanza, people would naturally get self-disciplined themselves while growing trees
The World Health Organization (WHO) reports, that the food not only affects physical and mental health, but is also key to successful rehabilitation and resettlement after release of prisoners. Recognizing this, many organisations and correctional facilities are striving to create a stronger and more sustainable food system among prison populations, which totaled more than 10.35 million globally in 2016, according to the World Prison Brief.
Based on above observations, we could creatively plan to relocate our prisons outside cities. For an example, already ecologically damaged area adjacent to Wilpattu Sanctuary could be used to build an ecofriendly prison. It should be designed with qualified Landscape Architects specialized in designing ecofriendly prisons as adapted in other countries. Those projects should be a joint effort with prisoners because the prisoners themselves should also become the partners of the project while rejuvenating original forest cover after project completion. While creating the forest cover, in the case of Wipattu, we could also use our traditional Chena Cultivation approaches which are now treated in developed countries as most sustainable land use method, to produce healthy foods without damaging eco systems.
By that approach, we could also transform whole prison premises to Organic Food Production Farm, managed by the prisoners themselves. This is very common in developed countries. In my view, the prisoners serving long term jails are ideal for this effort. After their release, they would definitely duplicate their experience in their residence areas rather than repeating crimes as happening now days. They also could be entitled for any profits generated from the project which takes about 5 years for completion. Income generating from farms could be deposited into the bank accounts of prisoners in order to use it after their release.
Another potential area for this intervention is Kandakadu Prison, which was an Agriculture Farm before it was transformed to a rehabilitation camp. Being located adjacent to an area with elephant population and the Beach in Batticaloa, eco-tourism hotel might be the best option for this area. Income generation from tourism is the return on investment which could be used to duplicate same concept to similar locations. Another potential area is the Right Bank area of Maduru Oya located near an Army Camp. Animal Husbandry is ideal for this area. Another potential area is Manthieu island, Batticoloa.
Capital required to invest for this type intervention could be generated by selling the urban areas currently allocated to prisons. Sri Lanka Army could be the ideal implementation agency mainly because of possible reluctances of Prison Officers to work in remote areas such as Wilpattu.
Mahinda Panapitiya
Opinion
Resplendent isle in transit: The misery of getting from A to B
For centuries, many travellers have waxed eloquent about Sri Lanka, the “Resplendent Isle.” They spoke of lush tea estates, golden shores, and a spirit of much-admired spontaneous hospitality that defined our Pearl of the Indian Ocean. But today, the residents of this isle know a different reality; one not of postcards, but of grease, grit, and the grinding misery of a transport system, virtually in terminal collapse. To move from Point A to Point B in modern Sri Lanka is no longer a simple errand; it is a “Herculean effort” of survival against a backdrop of state incompetence, private-sector thuggery, total disregard for human decency and a government that seems to have outsourced its conscience to the highest bidder.
For the millions who call this thrice-blessed island home, the daily reality of navigating it by any form of transport has become a “major catastrophe” of Dickensian proportions. To move from Point A to Point B in 2026 is no longer a simple logistical task; it is a distasteful test of human endurance, a drain on the spirit, and a gamble with one’s own safety. The current transport status of Sri Lanka is not merely “poor”, a terminology that defies even proper definition. It is a monumental systemic failure, a toxic cocktail of state negligence, private-sector extortion, and a total collapse of regulatory oversight.
The Iron Horse in Decay: A Rail Service in Tatters
At the heart of our transit woes is the state-run surface rail service. As the only transport entity exclusively handled by the government, the railways should be the backbone of our economy. Instead, they have become a testament to nonchalant and omnipresent bureaucratic apathy. The carriages, many of which look as though they have not seen a lick of paint or a structural repair since the mid-20th century, are in a state of advanced decay.
The statistics tell a grim story. Derailments have become so frequent that they are no longer headline news but a daily footnote in the lives of commuters. These “accidents” are rarely the acts of God; they are the inevitable results of poor maintenance of tracks and rolling stock. Unacceptable delays are now the standard operating procedure. A journey that should take an hour often stretches into three, leaving students, office workers, and labourers stranded on sweltering platforms while the authorities offer nothing but silence or hollow excuses. While other nations race toward high-speed travel connectivity, our “Queen of Jaffna” and “Udarata Menike” crawl through a landscape of systemic neglect.
The symptoms are visible to any commuter: rusted carriages with leaking roofs, seat upholstery that has not seen a deep clean since the 1970s, and an electrical system prone to sparks and darkness. But the issues run deeper than aesthetics. We are witnessing a terrifying frequency of derailments, often blamed on “technical faults” that are actually the predictable results of poor track maintenance and a lack of spare parts. Accidents at unprotected crossings continue to claim lives, while “unacceptable delays” have become the only predictable feature of the timetable. For the office worker in Colombo Fort or the student in Peradeniya, the train is no longer a vessel of progress; it is a gamble with time and safety.
The Bus “Mafia” and the Ransom of the Commuter
If the rail service is a ghost of a bygone era, the fee-levying bus service is a modern-day war zone. The landscape is split between the state-run Sri Lanka Transport Board (SLTB), burdened by a very poorly maintained fleet of ageing buses and a massive and aggressive fleet of private buses, which outmatch and outperform the state-run flotilla, not by efficiency but by sheer intimidation. It is absolutely crucial to note that neither serves the public. The SLTB really operates a skeletal, poorly maintained fleet that barely scratches the surface of demand. The private buses are a law unto themselves.
At the heart of the private transport sector lies an association that critics have aptly dubbed a “Mafia.” Headed by the influential figure colloquially known as “Bus G”, this association holds the entire nation’s commuters to ransom. At the drop of a hat, they can paralyse the country with “trade union action” that are little more than unsophisticated blackmail. In a telling ransom note, whenever a policy change or a fuel hike threatens their bottom line, the buses disappear from the roads. The result? Thousands of citizens are stranded in the blistering heat, watching their productivity and dignity evaporate while the “association” negotiates with a government that appears to be absolutely terrified of their political muscle.
There is a dark irony in the politics of it all. The kingpins of this “bus mafia” openly boast that they were instrumental in bringing the current political powers into office. Consequently, the government appears not just toothless, but complicit. While the public suffers, the state turns a blind eye to overcrowding, reckless driving, and the use of nasty, addictive drugs by the staff, which turns our highways into graveyards. The powers-that-be do not have the gumption to call a spade, just that, a spade, and rein in the miscreants, using the finest employment of the laws that govern this country.
The Law of the Tuk-Tuk: A Free-for-All on Three Wheels
Descending further into the chaos, we find the omnipresent three-wheeler and taxi services. Once a convenient alternative, the “Tuk-Tuk” has become a law unto itself. In a country where the cost of living is already spiralling, these unscrupulous operators have created a “free-for-all” fare system. There is no central control over rates; instead, passengers are forced to haggle or succumb to whatever arbitrary figure the driver decides upon. For those who can afford to bypass the buses, the totally inconsiderate charges of three-wheelers and private taxis offer no sanctuary. What was once a convenient last-mile solution has devolved into a predatory racket. The tuk-tuk services have become stallions of self-importance, operating without any meaningful oversight of rates or conduct.
Commuters are met with the nonchalant refusal of short-distance hires. Drivers, seeking to “make a fast buck,” prioritise long-distance hauls where they can extort exorbitant, unmetered fares. In the absence of a standardised digital fare system enforced by the state, the passenger is always the loser. The arrogance is palpable, and respect for fellow humans has been thrown out the window. These operators behave as if they own the asphalt, often claiming that their collective vote base was the kingmaker for the current political establishment. This perceived “immunity” has bred a culture of impunity where the commuter is treated as a nuisance rather than a customer.
For the elderly trying to reach a hospital or a worker trying to get home during a rainstorm, the “refusal” has become a standard, insulting rejection. The fee-levying taxi services, though slightly more professional in appearance, operate with a similar mercenary mindset, exploiting the desperation of a public that has no other choice.
The RMV Mess, the Registration Trap and the Police Ambush
For those who have attempted to escape the public transport nightmare by purchasing their own vehicles, a different kind of trap awaits. The government has allowed the mass import of private vehicles, including two-wheelers, but the Registrar of Motor Vehicles (RMV) has become a black hole of inefficiency. Delays in vehicle registration now run into several months. Despite a surge in private vehicle imports, the bureaucracy has ground to a resounding halt. Vehicle owners face “blatant delays” in registration that extend for several months, leaving them in a bureaucratic and legal limbo.
The situation is worsened by the government’s decision to halt the private-sector issuance of number plates, centralising it into a system that is currently a “total mess.” Tens of thousands of vehicles are forced to ply the roads displaying only engine and chassis numbers, a temporary measure born of necessity. Yet for all that, and totally against even a minuscule iota of any consideration, the Police Department seems to have missed the memo and become a set of hungry predators. Officers wait in ambush, charging these owners with hefty fines for being on the road without official number plates; plates that the state itself has failed to provide. It is an avaricious cycle, where the state fails to register your car or motorcycle, and then the state’s law enforcement arm punishes you for that very failure. Rather than focusing on the blatantly reckless bus drivers or the lawless Tuk-Tuks, Police Officers wait in ensnarement to pounce on these “unregistered” vehicles. Even when owners produce documents proving the delay lies entirely with the RMV, they are charged and fined. The message is clear: the citizen must pay for the government’s failure.
The Prohibitive Cost of Mobility
Overseeing all of this is the crushing weight of fuel prices. The government continues to raise the cost of petrol and diesel with scant regard for the downstream consequences. These so-called “cost-reflective” adjustments may look good on a balance sheet in Washington or at the International Monetary Fund, but on the ground in Colombo and Kandy, they are prohibitive. Every hike in fuel prices triggers a “ripple effect” that raises the price of bread, vegetables, and, of course, the very transport that people use to get to work to pay for those goods.
Finally, a Nation at a Standstill
The transport crisis is not just a logistical problem; it is a moral one of utter social degradation. It reflects on a government that has abandoned its primary duty: to provide the infrastructure for a functioning society. We are living on a “glorious isle” where the beauty of the landscape is now obscured by the soot of a broken bus and the stress of an uncertain commute. Going from Point A to Point B has become a major travail of unbelievable misery.
Overseeing this chaos is a government that views the fuel pump as an Automated Teller Machine (ATM). The cost of all fuel types, from petrol to the diesel that powers the nation’s mobility has reached “absolutely prohibitive” levels. With scant regard for the domino effect on the cost of living, the authorities and the powers-that-be continue to raise prices, fuelling a major catastrophe of economic inflation.
For the average Sri Lankan, the “travail of unbelievable misery” is now constant. We are a nation on the move, but we are moving towards a cliff from which we are likely to fall into an abyss of no return. Until the transport sector is stripped of its political “protectors” and returned to the service of the people, this “Resplendent Isle” will remain a beautiful prison for those trying to get from Point A to Point B.
If the current administration continues to protect the infamous “mafias”, ignore the decay of the rails, and profit from the administrative chaos of the RMV, and totally fail to get their act together, they are not failing just the transport sector; they are in fact failing the very heart of the nation for sure. Our Motherland, Sri Lanka, deserves a whole lot better than a state of an ever-present and unending transit catastrophe. All the rhetoric about a rich country and a beautiful life that was promulgated in the not-too-distant past remains only as unbelievable wishful thinking.
By an Aficionado
Opinion
Why do many Sri Lankan students become school dropouts?
Education is widely recognised as the foundation of a country’s development. In Sri Lanka, free education has provided generations of children with the opportunity to attend school regardless of their economic background. Despite these advantages, many students still leave school before completing their education. School dropout is a significant social issue because it affects not only the lives of young people but also the country’s economic and social progress. Understanding the reasons behind school dropout is essential for finding effective solutions.
One of the main reasons students leave school is financial hardship. Although education in Sri Lanka is free, families still have to spend money on uniforms, stationery, transportation, private tuition, and other school-related expenses. For low-income families, these costs can be difficult to manage. Some students are forced to work to support their families instead of continuing their education. In rural areas especially, children may help with farming, fishing, or family businesses, reducing the time and motivation they have for school.
Another important factor is academic pressure. Sri Lanka’s education system is highly competitive, especially because of major examinations such as the Grade Five Scholarship Examination, the G.C.E. Ordinary Level, and the G.C.E. Advanced Level. Many students feel stressed by the heavy workload and the pressure to achieve high marks. Those who struggle academically may lose confidence and believe they have little chance of success. As a result, some choose to leave school rather than continue facing disappointment and failure.
Family problems also contribute significantly to school dropout rates. Children who experience divorce, domestic violence, alcoholism, or the loss of a parent often face emotional and financial difficulties. Some students become responsible for caring for younger siblings or elderly family members. Without proper support, balancing family responsibilities with education becomes extremely challenging. In such situations, education may become a lower priority.
Another reason is the lack of interest in traditional classroom learning. Every student has different talents and learning styles. However, the education system often focuses mainly on academic achievement rather than practical or vocational skills. Students who are gifted in sports, arts, technology, or technical work may not feel motivated in a classroom that emphasises examinations and textbook learning. Without opportunities to develop their unique abilities, some students become bored and eventually stop attending school.
Bullying and mental health issues are also important causes of school dropout. Some students experience bullying because of their appearance, disability, ethnicity, language, or family background. Others suffer from anxiety, depression, or low self-esteem but do not receive the counseling they need. When students feel unsafe or unwelcome at school, they may begin missing classes and eventually leave school altogether. Schools that lack proper counseling services may struggle to identify and support these vulnerable students.
In some parts of Sri Lanka, long travel distances and transportation difficulties discourage students from attending school regularly. Rural students often travel several kilometers every day, sometimes on foot or using unreliable public transport. During the rainy season, flooded roads and poor infrastructure make travel even more difficult. Frequent absenteeism caused by transportation challenges may eventually lead students to drop out.
For some girls, early marriage and teenage pregnancy become barriers to continuing education. Although these cases are less common than in some other countries, they still affect certain communities. Young mothers often find it difficult to balance childcare with school responsibilities. Social stigma and limited support can further reduce their chances of returning to education.
The COVID-19 pandemic also increased the number of students at risk of dropping out. During school closures, many families lacked internet access, smartphones, computers, or stable electricity for online learning. Students from disadvantaged backgrounds fell behind in their studies, and some never returned to school after classes resumed. The pandemic highlighted inequalities in access to education across the country.
The consequences of school dropout are serious. Students who leave school early often have fewer employment opportunities and may earn lower incomes throughout their lives. They are more likely to experience poverty, unemployment, and social exclusion. School dropout can also contribute to higher crime rates, child labor, and poor health outcomes. For the country, losing educated young people means a less skilled workforce and slower national development.
Several solutions can help reduce school dropout rates in Sri Lanka. The government can strengthen financial assistance for low-income families through scholarships, school meal programmes, and transportation support. Schools should provide counseling services to address mental health concerns and prevent bullying. Teachers can receive training to identify students who are at risk of dropping out and provide timely support. Expanding vocational education and technical training would also give students more opportunities to pursue careers that match their interests and abilities. Finally, parents, schools, communities, and government agencies should work together to encourage regular school attendance and create a supportive learning environment.
In conclusion, school dropout is a complex issue caused by economic difficulties, academic pressure, family problems, mental health challenges, transportation issues, and limited educational opportunities. Although Sri Lanka has made remarkable progress in providing free education, ensuring that every child completes their schooling requires continued effort from all sectors of society. By addressing the root causes of school dropout and supporting vulnerable students, Sri Lanka can build a more educated, skilled, and prosperous future for the next generation.
Saumya Aloysius
saumyaaloysius@gmail.com
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