Features
The Other Martin Wickramasinghe
By Uditha Devapriya
For most of us, Martin Wickramasinghe tends to evoke nostalgic visions of childhoods spent in villages, of travels down south, of Joe Abeywickrema reciting pansil to his inquisitive children and being left speechless by their interest in one particular silaya, which I shall not mention here, but which all those who have read the book and watched the film will know. That was the gentle, kindly Wickramasinghe, the man who turned his village into a universe of its own in much the same way Mark Twain did with Mississippi.
It was later, much later, that we came to confront the other Martin Wickramasinghe: the man who read widely and wrote prolifically on anthropology and biology, whose reading of Buddhism put him at odds with the many revivalist movements of his time, whose belief in cultural synthesis and evolution pitted him against both Westernised elites and nationalist anti-Westerners. His critique of narrow nationalism – as deep as his critique of uncritical Westernisation – went a long way in showing us that these were two sides of the same coin. The one simply reflected the other, and was amplified in the other.
Wickramasinghe tends to be seen and read in a particular light, and for better or worse his wider scholarly forays have been neglected. Though he is not identified with the type of Sinhala Buddhist nationalism that the likes of Jathika Chintanaya propagate at present, he is nevertheless identified as the great Sinhala and Buddhist culturalist, someone who revived pride in that culture. In itself, there is nothing wrong with such a reading: one can make the same case for other artistic figures, like Amaradeva, Chitrasena, Manjusri, or Lester James Peries. But if we stick to such a reading, we tend to neglect if not lay aside the complexity of the man, the mind, and his writings.
Perhaps the most essential point about the other Wickramasinghe was his study of and passionate advocacy of anthropology. By the early 20th century anthropology was fast losing its Orientalist character. Malinowski’s work in the Trobriand Islands, and at the London School of Economics, freed the subject from its colonialist roots. While Africa and Asia had once been seen as primitive societies whose function it was – or rather seemed to be – to reinforce the superiority of Western civilisation, now they were being studied on the basis of their internal structures, hierarchies, and functions.
When Wickramasinghe – who I think we can call Sri Lanka’s first anthropologist – began writing on the subject and adopting anthropological frameworks in his studies of Sinhala culture, the Ceylonese academic establishment did not really see it fit to teach, or include, anthropology in our universities. The Indian scholar Kewal Motwani, in a series of letters, criticised none less than Ivor Jennings for failing to include the subject at the University of Ceylon. Wickramasinghe reiterated his critique. In his view, the culture of intolerance that swept the country during the 1950s – particularly over the language issue – could have been avoided had there been serious efforts to promote the subject.
For someone who lacked a university education, even a school education, Wickramasinghe was well informed on these subjects. His writings spanned the whole gamut of the social sciences, of history and art history, of religious and cultural studies. Many of his observations gained mainstream acceptance. Some did not.
Adopting the American anthropologist Ruth Benedict’s framework, for instance, he once depicted Sinhala society, with its emphasis on self-discipline, as Apollonian, and Hindu society, with its culture of religious ecstasy, as Dionysian. What is important is not that such claims were criticised, but that they were made at a time when it had become fashionable among mainstream academia to look down on local culture.
In studying the local culture, however, Wickramasinghe did not commit the opposite error of romanticising it. This is his point of departure from the nationalist-revivalist camp, the most articulate voices of which can be found today in Jathika Chintanaya. His critique of such ideologies runs into several essays, and to reproduce or summarise them all here would be quite tedious. But several themes run through them all. Three of them, in particular, merit our attention, since they shed much light on his thinking.
The first is his view of Buddhism as rationalist and compatible with science. It was no coincidence that he adopted the penname Hethu Vaadi or “Rationalist” in his Silumina column in the 1910s. Though nationalist ideologues dismiss Wickramasinghe’s knowledge of science as self-taught and haphazard, as lacking depth, it was the way he linked the hard sciences, biology in particular, to the social sciences, anthropology in particular, in the context of Sinhala culture that made him stand out. I would argue that his lack of university training was paradoxically what enabled him to make this contribution.
The second is the very important point that Wickramasinghe did not rationalise Buddhism in the way his critics assume he did. In his reading, Buddhism as a religion was eminently capable of adapting to different cultures and contexts. This is the Jathika Chintantanaya’s view of religion as well: that, at the end of the day, it is defined by the cultural universe it occupies. Indeed, I think Wickramasinghe was as critical as they were of those who tried to divorce religion from culture, from society. Buddhism in Sri Lanka, in his view, could not be separated from Sinhala culture, including folk society, literature, and of course art.
The third is the suggestion, the implication, that nationalist-revivalists themselves borrowed from the ideological framework they try to undermine. The best explanation for this, in my view, is that most nationalist ideologues here emerged from the very urban-suburban academic background they later tried to distance themselves from.
I would contend that this dualism inhibited them in the longer term. These ideologues were caught between two worlds: the rational and liberal arts tradition they had been born to, versus the romantic utopian universe they had retreated to. That led them to share much of the same ideology of the Westernised elites they were pitted against.
To quote Wickramasinghe himself on this,
“Nationalists as well as denationalised educated men laugh at and ridicule the dress of the present-day Sinhalese villager-coat and clot or coat and sarong. But is not this dress of theirs an innovation, however crude, and a proof of the elasticity of their culture and the plasticity of their mind? Educated people should make conscious attempts to evolve a national dress basing it on the villager’s unconscious innovations.”
One discerns an almost utopian view of the Sinhalese villager in this passage. But in locating the matrix of Sinhala Buddhist culture in the village, Martin Wickramasinghe undermined the arguments of nationalist-revivalists, most of whom after all came from petty bourgeois milieus, who were interested in social advancement and based their whole campaign on the goal of undermining the Anglicised elite. In trying to undermine that elite, they tended to ignore the essentially synthetic character of Sinhala culture. This, Wickramasinghe suggests, blinded them to certain aspects of that culture, like folk society.
My friend Dhanuka Bandara describes Wickramasinghe, along with Ananda Coomaraswamy, as a proponent of “agrarian utopianism.” I would be inclined to agree, but would add that unlike Coomaraswamy, Wickramasinghe did not wish to return to the past or revive it in its entirety. In this I think the man disagreed with Sinhala nationalists, though he understood, in a way their critics do not, where the nationalists were coming from. At the end of the day, that may be his greatest achievement and contribution: what made him the superior of the many nationalist ideologues and groupings we see today.
Martin Wickramasinghe’s whole point was that culture was never sterile: that it evolved, changed, and ruptured, from within and without. He championed, not the glories of some imagined past, but the realities of a material, tangible present.
Critics have contended that his Koggala trilogy reveals an almost passionate attachment to the Sinhala village and to all that the village represents. There is nothing wrong with such a reading. But Wickramasinghe knew, in a way his nationalist critics – even supporters – did not, that the village could not stand for long. He likened our attempts to reclaim the past to a search for kalunika: it simply could not be done. It is this Martin Wickramasinghe that we have yet to explore and assess: unknown, though hardly unknowable.
Uditha Devapriya is a writer, researcher, and analyst based in Sri Lanka who contributes to a number of publications on topics such as history, art and culture, politics, and foreign policy. He can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com.
Features
Sheer rise of Realpolitik making the world see the brink
The recent humanly costly torpedoing of an Iranian naval vessel in Sri Lanka’s Exclusive Economic Zone by a US submarine has raised a number of issues of great importance to international political discourse and law that call for elucidation. It is best that enlightened commentary is brought to bear in such discussions because at present misleading and uninformed speculation on questions arising from the incident are being aired by particularly jingoistic politicians of Sri Lanka’s South which could prove deleterious.
As matters stand, there seems to be no credible evidence that the Indian state was aware of the impending torpedoing of the Iranian vessel but these acerbic-tongued politicians of Sri Lanka’s South would have the local public believe that the tragedy was triggered with India’s connivance. Likewise, India is accused of ‘embroiling’ Sri Lanka in the incident on account of seemingly having prior knowledge of it and not warning Sri Lanka about the impending disaster.
It is plain that a process is once again afoot to raise anti-India hysteria in Sri Lanka. An obligation is cast on the Sri Lankan government to ensure that incendiary speculation of the above kind is defeated and India-Sri Lanka relations are prevented from being in any way harmed. Proactive measures are needed by the Sri Lankan government and well meaning quarters to ensure that public discourse in such matters have a factual and rational basis. ‘Knowledge gaps’ could prove hazardous.
Meanwhile, there could be no doubt that Sri Lanka’s sovereignty was violated by the US because the sinking of the Iranian vessel took place in Sri Lanka’s Exclusive Economic Zone. While there is no international decrying of the incident, and this is to be regretted, Sri Lanka’s helplessness and small player status would enable the US to ‘get away with it’.
Could anything be done by the international community to hold the US to account over the act of lawlessness in question? None is the answer at present. This is because in the current ‘Global Disorder’ major powers could commit the gravest international irregularities with impunity. As the threadbare cliché declares, ‘Might is Right’….. or so it seems.
Unfortunately, the UN could only merely verbally denounce any violations of International Law by the world’s foremost powers. It cannot use countervailing force against violators of the law, for example, on account of the divided nature of the UN Security Council, whose permanent members have shown incapability of seeing eye-to-eye on grave matters relating to International Law and order over the decades.
The foregoing considerations could force the conclusion on uncritical sections that Political Realism or Realpolitik has won out in the end. A basic premise of the school of thought known as Political Realism is that power or force wielded by states and international actors determine the shape, direction and substance of international relations. This school stands in marked contrast to political idealists who essentially proclaim that moral norms and values determine the nature of local and international politics.
While, British political scientist Thomas Hobbes, for instance, was a proponent of Political Realism, political idealism has its roots in the teachings of Socrates, Plato and latterly Friedrich Hegel of Germany, to name just few such notables.
On the face of it, therefore, there is no getting way from the conclusion that coercive force is the deciding factor in international politics. If this were not so, US President Donald Trump in collaboration with Israeli Rightist Premier Benjamin Natanyahu could not have wielded the ‘big stick’, so to speak, on Iran, killed its Supreme Head of State, terrorized the Iranian public and gone ‘scot-free’. That is, currently, the US’ impunity seems to be limitless.
Moreover, the evidence is that the Western bloc is reuniting in the face of Iran’s threats to stymie the flow of oil from West Asia to the rest of the world. The recent G7 summit witnessed a coming together of the foremost powers of the global North to ensure that the West does not suffer grave negative consequences from any future blocking of western oil supplies.
Meanwhile, Israel is having a ‘free run’ of the Middle East, so to speak, picking out perceived adversarial powers, such as Lebanon, and militarily neutralizing them; once again with impunity. On the other hand, Iran has been bringing under assault, with no questions asked, Gulf states that are seen as allying with the US and Israel. West Asia is facing a compounded crisis and International Law seems to be helplessly silent.
Wittingly or unwittingly, matters at the heart of International Law and peace are being obfuscated by some pro-Trump administration commentators meanwhile. For example, retired US Navy Captain Brent Sadler has cited Article 51 of the UN Charter, which provides for the right to self or collective self-defence of UN member states in the face of armed attacks, as justifying the US sinking of the Iranian vessel (See page 2 of The Island of March 10, 2026). But the Article makes it clear that such measures could be resorted to by UN members only ‘ if an armed attack occurs’ against them and under no other circumstances. But no such thing happened in the incident in question and the US acted under a sheer threat perception.
Clearly, the US has violated the Article through its action and has once again demonstrated its tendency to arbitrarily use military might. The general drift of Sadler’s thinking is that in the face of pressing national priorities, obligations of a state under International Law could be side-stepped. This is a sure recipe for international anarchy because in such a policy environment states could pursue their national interests, irrespective of their merits, disregarding in the process their obligations towards the international community.
Moreover, Article 51 repeatedly reiterates the authority of the UN Security Council and the obligation of those states that act in self-defence to report to the Council and be guided by it. Sadler, therefore, could be said to have cited the Article very selectively, whereas, right along member states’ commitments to the UNSC are stressed.
However, it is beyond doubt that international anarchy has strengthened its grip over the world. While the US set destabilizing precedents after the crumbling of the Cold War that paved the way for the current anarchic situation, Russia further aggravated these degenerative trends through its invasion of Ukraine. Stepping back from anarchy has thus emerged as the prime challenge for the world community.
Features
A Tribute to Professor H. L. Seneviratne – Part II
A Living Legend of the Peradeniya Tradition:
(First part of this article appeared yesterday)
H.L. Seneviratne’s tenure at the University of Virginia was marked not only by his ethnographic rigour but also by his profound dedication to the preservation and study of South Asian film culture. Recognising that cinema is often the most vital expression of a society’s aspirations and anxieties, he played a central role in curating what is now one of the most significant Indian film collections in the United States. His approach to curation was never merely archival; it was informed by his anthropological work, treating films as primary texts for understanding the ideological shifts within the subcontinent
The collection he helped build at the UVA Library, particularly within the Clemons Library holdings, serves as a comprehensive survey of the Indian ‘Parallel Cinema’ movement and the works of legendary auteurs. This includes the filmographies of directors such as Satyajit Ray, whose nuanced portrayals of the Indian middle class and rural poverty provided a cinematic counterpart to H.L. Seneviratne’s own academic interests in social change. By prioritising the works of figures such as Mrinal Sen and Ritwik Ghatak, H.L. Seneviratne ensured that students and scholars had access to films that wrestled with the complex legacies of colonialism, partition, and the struggle for national identity.
These films represent the ‘Parallel Cinema’ movement of West Bengal rather than the commercial Hindi industry of Mumbai. H.L. Seneviratne’s focus initially cantered on those world-renowned Bengali masters; it eventually broadened to encompass the distinct cinematic languages of the South. These films refer to the specific masterpieces from the Malayalam and Tamil regions—such as the meditative realism of Adoor Gopalakrishnan or the stylistic innovations of Mani Ratnam—which are culturally and linguistically distinct from the Bengali works. Essentially, H.L. Seneviratne is moving from the specific (Bengal) to the panoramic, ensuring that the curatorial work of H.L. Seneviratne was not just a ‘Greatest Hits of Kolkata’ but a truly national representation of Indian artistry. These films were selected for their ability to articulate internal critiques of Indian society, often focusing on issues of caste, gender, and the impact of modernisation on traditional life. Through this collection, H.L. Seneviratne positioned cinema as a tool for exposing the social dynamics that often remain hidden in traditional historical records, much like the hidden political rituals he uncovered in his early research.
Beyond the films themselves, H.L. Seneviratne integrated these visual resources into his curriculum, fostering a generation of scholars who understood the power of the image in South Asian politics. He frequently used these screenings to illustrate the conflation of past and present, showing how modern cinema often reworks ancient myths to serve contemporary political agendas. His legacy at the University of Virginia therefore encompasses both a rigorous body of writing that deconstructed the work of the kings and a vivid archive of films that continues to document the work of culture in a rapidly changing world.
In his lectures on Sri Lankan cinema, H.L. Seneviratne has frequently championed Lester James Peries as the ‘father of authentic Sinhala cinema.’ He views Peries’s 1956 film Rekava (Line of Destiny) as a watershed moment that liberated the local industry from the formulaic influence of South Indian commercial films. For H.L. Seneviratne, Peries was not just a filmmaker but an ethnographer of the screen. He often points to Peries’s ability to capture the subtle rhythms of rural life and the decline of the feudal elite, most notably in his masterpiece Gamperaliya, as a visual parallel to his own research into the transformation of traditional authority. H.L. Seneviratne argues that Peries provided a realistic way of seeing for the nation, one that eschewed nationalist caricature in favour of complex human emotion.
However, H.L. Seneviratne’s praise for Peries is often tempered by a critique of the broader visual nationalism that followed. He has expressed concern that later filmmakers sometimes misappropriated Peries’s indigenous style to promote a narrow, majoritarian view of history. In his view, while Peries opened the door to an authentic Sri Lankan identity, the state and subsequent commercial interests often used that same door to usher in a simplified, heroic past. This critique aligns with his broader academic stance against the rationalization of culture for political ends.
Constitutional Governance:
H.L. Seneviratne’s support for independent commissions is best described as a hopeful pragmatism; he views them as essential, albeit fragile, instruments for diffusing the hyper-concentration of executive power. Writing to Colombo Page and several news tabloids, H.L. Seneviratne addresses the democratic deficit by creating a structural buffer between partisan interests and public institutions, theoretically ensuring that the judiciary, police, and civil service operate on merit rather than political whim. However, he remains deeply aware that these commissions are not a panacea and are indeed inherently susceptible to the ‘politics of patronage.’
In cultures where power is traditionally exercised through personal loyalties, there is a constant risk that these bodies will be subverted through the appointment of hidden partisans or rendered toothless through administrative sabotage. Thus, while H.L. Seneviratne advocates for them as a means to transition a state from a patron-client culture to a rule-of-law framework, his anthropological lens suggests that the success of such commissions depends less on the law itself and more on the sustained pressure of civil society to keep them honest.
Whether discussing the nuances of a film’s narrative or the complexities of a constitutional clause, H.L. Seneviratne’s approach remains consistent in its focus on the spirit behind the institution. He maintains that a healthy democracy requires more than just the right laws or the right symbols; it requires a citizenry and a clergy capable of critical self-reflection. His career at the University of Virginia and his continued engagement with Sri Lankan public life stand as a testament to the idea that the intellectual’s work is never truly finished until the work of the people is fully realized.
In the context of H.L. Seneviratne’s philosophy, as discussed in his work of the kings ‘the work of the people’ is far more than a populist catchphrase; it represents the practical application of critical consciousness within a democracy. Rather than defining ‘work’ as labour or voting, H.L. Seneviratne views it as the transition of a population from passive subjects to an active, self-reflective citizenry. This means that a democracy is only truly ‘realized’ when the public possesses the intellectual autonomy to look beyond the ‘right laws’ or ‘right symbols’ and instead engage with the underlying spirit of their institutions. For H.L. Seneviratne, this work is specifically tied to the ability of the people—including influential groups like the clergy—to perform rigorous self-critique, ensuring that they are not merely following tradition or authority, but are actively sustaining the ethical health of the nation. It is a perpetual process of civic education and moral vigilance that moves a society from the ‘paper’ democracy of a constitution to a lived reality of accountability and insight.
This decline of the ‘intellectual monk’ had a catastrophic impact on the political landscape, particularly surrounding the watershed moment of 1956 and the ‘Sinhala Only’ movement. H.L. Seneviratne posits that when the Sangha exchanged their role as impartial moral advisors for that of political kingmakers, they became the primary obstacle to ethnic reconciliation. He suggests that politicians, fearing the immense grassroots influence of the monks, entered a state of monachophobia, where they felt unable to propose pluralistic or fair policies toward minority communities for fear of being branded as traitors to the faith. In H.L. Seneviratne’s framework, the monk’s transition from a social servant to a political vanguard effectively trapped the state in a cycle of majoritarian nationalism from which it has yet to escape.
H.L. Seneviratne’s work serves as a multifaceted critique of the modern Sri Lankan state and its cultural foundations. Whether he is dissecting what he sees as the betrayal of the monastic ideal or celebrating the humanistic vision of an Indian filmmaker, his goal remains the same: to champion a world where intellect and compassion are not sacrificed on the altar of political power. His legacy at the University of Virginia and his continued voice in Sri Lankan discourse remind us that the work of the intellectual is to provide a moral compass even, indeed especially, when the nation has lost its way.
(Concluded)
by Professor
M. W. Amarasiri de Silva
Features
Musical journey of Nilanka Anjalee …
Nilanka Anjalee Wickramasinghe is, in fact, a reputed doctor, but the plus factor is that she has an awesome singing voice, as well., which stands as a reminder that music and intellect can harmonise beautifully.
Well, our spotlight today is on ‘Nilanka – the Singer,’ and not ‘Nilanka – the Singing Doctor!’
Nilanka’s journey in music began at an early age, nurtured by an ear finely tuned to nuance and a heart that sought expression beyond words.
Under the tutelage of her singing teachers, she went on to achieve the A.T.C.L. Diploma in Piano and the L.T.C.L. Diploma in Vocals from Trinity College, London – qualifications recognised internationally for their rigor and artistry.
These achievements formally certified her as a teacher and performer in both opera singing and piano music, while her Performer’s Certificate for singing attested to her flair on stage.
Nilanka believes that music must move the listener, not merely impress them, emphasising that “technique is a language, but emotion is the message,” and that conviction shines through in her stage presence –serene yet powerful, intimate yet commanding.
Her YouTube channel, Facebook and Instagram pages, “Nilanka Anjalee,” have become a window into her evolving artistry.
Here, audiences find not only her elegant renditions of local and international pieces but also her original songs, which reveal a reflective and modern voice with a timeless sensibility.
Each performance – whether a haunting ballad or a jubilant interpretation of a traditional hymn – carries her signature blend of technical finesse and emotional depth.
Beyond the concert hall and digital stage, Nilanka’s music is driven by a deep commitment to meaning.
Her work often reflects her belief in empathy, inner balance, and the beauty of simplicity—values that give her performances their quiet strength.
She says she continues to collaborate with musicians across genres, composing and performing pieces that reflect both her classical discipline and her contemporary outlook.
Widely acclaimed for her ability to adapt to both formal and modern stages, with equal grace, and with her growing repertoire, Nilanka has become a sought-after soloist at concerts and special events,
For those who seek to experience her artistry, firsthand, Nilanka Anjalee says she can be contacted for live performances and collaborations through her official channels.
Her voice – refined, resonant, and resolutely her own – reminds us that music, at its core, is not about perfection, but truth.
Dr. Nilanka Anjalee Wickramasinghe also indicated that her newest single, an original, titled ‘Koloba Ahasa Yata,’ with lyrics, melody and singing all done by her, is scheduled for release this month (March)
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