Features

Transformations in Sri Lankan social sciences: From early to modern anthropology

Published

1 year ago

2024/10/7

by Amarasiri de Silva

Before the 1970s, anthropology in Sri Lanka, as an academic discipline, was relatively confined to a few studies. The country had only a few trained anthropologists, and the scope of anthropological research needed to be expanded. This reflected a broader trend in the social sciences in Sri Lanka, where subjects like sociology and anthropology are still required to be fully institutionalized or widely pursued. However, the discipline began to change significantly in the subsequent decades, particularly with the expansion of the departments of Sociology at major universities in Sri Lanka.

The expansion of the departments of Sociology in Sri Lanka’s universities was a pivotal development in the history of social sciences in the country. This expansion increased the number of students who could study sociology and diversified the subjects and research areas that could be explored within the discipline. Sociology was increasingly offered as a special degree, attracting many students interested in studying the social fabric of the country.

This shift in academic focus led to a significant increase in students pursuing higher education in sociology. After successfully completing their undergraduate degrees, with first and second classes, many of these students pursued advanced degrees, including PhDs, at prestigious universities abroad. The most common destinations for these students were India, Australia, the United Kingdom, and the United States, where they could receive training in the latest methodologies and theoretical frameworks in anthropology and the social sciences.

The exposure to foreign academic environments had a profound impact on the way sociology was studied and practiced in Sri Lankan universities. Students who went abroad for their PhDs were exposed to many theoretical perspectives and research methodologies that they brought back a wealth of knowledge and expertise, which they applied to their research and teaching in Sri Lanka.

One of the most significant contributions of these post 1970 foreign-trained sociologists was their emphasis on empirical research and fieldwork, and applied orientation in research. Unlike earlier generations of sociologists and anthropologists who often relied on theoretical analysis of classical anthropology, these new scholars emphasized the importance of gathering data from the field on social change and social problems. This approach led to a surge in applied anthropological and sociological studies conducted in Sri Lankan villages, as these scholars sought to understand the social dynamics of rural life in the country.

The focus of these studies reflected both the new methodologies introduced to these scholars and the distinct social and cultural landscape of Sri Lanka. With most of the population residing in rural areas, understanding village dynamics was essential to comprehending the broader social fabric of the country. Some scholars concentrated on the intricacies of caste, while others explored the rise of class and its impact on social formation, stratification and political behaviour.

By documenting various aspects of village life—such as kinship structures, economic activities, religious practices, and social hierarchies—their research provided valuable insights into how traditional social structures were being preserved or transformed amid modernization and economic change. Additionally, some researchers turned their attention to marginalized communities, including deprived caste groups and ethnic enclaves, highlighting their unique challenges and contributions to the social structure.

The documentation of village studies also significantly impacted the development of anthropology as a discipline in Sri Lanka. Although many of these scholars identified as sociologists, their research often overlapped with anthropological concerns, particularly in their focus on culture, tradition, and social organization. As a result, the line between sociology and anthropology became increasingly blurred, leading to a more integrated approach to the study of social life in Sri Lanka.

The early anthropological and sociological research conducted in Sri Lanka during this period laid the foundation for future studies. The emphasis on fieldwork and empirical research became a hallmark of Sri Lankan sociology, and many of the methodologies and theoretical perspectives introduced by these scholars continue to influence research in the country today.

Moreover, the focus on village studies has impacted how rural life is understood in Sri Lanka. The detailed documentation of village life has provided a valuable record of the social and cultural changes that have occurred in the country over the past few decades. These studies have also contributed to a deeper understanding of how global processes, such as economic development and cultural exchange, have impacted local communities in Sri Lanka.

My Exposure to Anthropological Fieldwork

My journey into the world of anthropology began during my master’s degree research in Mirissa, a fishing village located in the southern province of Sri Lanka. Having been born and raised in an agricultural village, Batapola in the Galle District, my exposure to the coastal environment of Mirissa was an entirely new and transformative experience.

The transition from an agricultural backdrop to a coastal fishing community presented a set of unique challenges that I had never encountered before. In Mirissa, I was introduced to the intricacies of various fishing methods, a completely different form of livelihood compared to the farming practices I was familiar with. Learning about the techniques used in the capture of fish, the handling and processing of the catch, and the complex networks involved in fish marketing, crew formation, etc., required me to immerse myself deeply into the everyday lives of the villagers.

Beyond the technical aspects, understanding the lives of the fishermen and their families offered profound insights into the social fabric of coastal communities. I observed how the rhythms of life in Mirissa were intimately tied to the sea, shaping the village’s economy and the community’s cultural and social structures. The challenges faced by these families, their resilience, and how they navigated the uncertainties of their occupation became focal points of my research.

This experience in Mirissa not only broadened my understanding of Sri Lanka’s diverse socio-economic landscapes but also deepened my appreciation for the complexity and richness of anthropological research. Through this fieldwork, I realized the importance of adapting to new environments and the necessity of approaching research with sensitivity and respect for the communities involved.

One of the challenges I encountered during my research in Mirissa was establishing the parameters of social change in Mirissa, particularly with the introduction of mechanized boats, or the three-and-a-half-ton boats, which began to replace the traditional outrigger canoes with sails. It quickly became apparent that this technological shift was not merely a matter of economic or practical change but had profound social implications for the village. When mechanized boats were first introduced in the 1950s, the villagers were skeptical about the viability of this new technology. Some recipients even destroyed the freely given boats by submerging them in the sea. Out of the roughly 40 boats distributed to the deep-sea fishing community, only one remained operational at the time of my research. The others were either sold or damaged.

I observed that the village was divided into distinct social categories, based on the method of fishing. Some fished in the deep sea using mechanized boats or canoes (Ruwal oru), and those engaged in shallow sea fishing using beach seine nets (Ma Dal). These two communities, within the village, were highly divergent, with a strong sense of identity tied to their respective fishing practices.

The social divide between these groups was evident not only in their daily activities but also in their social interactions. Intermarriage between the two communities was rare, a reflection of the deep-seated cultural and social differences that had developed over time. Additionally, this division was spatially manifested within the village itself. The deep-sea fishermen resided by the sea in an area known as Badugoda, where they had easy access to the ocean. In contrast, the beach seine fishermen lived by the main road, a location that offered them convenient access to the beaches allocated for their fishing practices.

This geographical separation further reinforced the social boundaries between the two groups, creating distinct sections within the village, each with its traditions, practices, and way of life. Understanding this complex social landscape was crucial to my research, as it highlighted the intricate ways technological and economic changes can influence social structures and relationships within a community.

I commenced my research in the beach seine section of the village in the early 1970s. Through a mutual friend, I was introduced to Mr. Nilaweera, a schoolteacher in the village. Mr. Nilaweera played a pivotal role in helping me settle into the community. He assisted me in finding a place to live—an empty house with basic furniture that he kindly provided. Understanding the challenges of living alone in a new environment, Mr. Nilaweera also arranged for an older woman to cook for me. She prepared delicious meals, often including fresh fish caught in the beach seine nets, or embul thiyal using Alagodu maalu which added to the authenticity of my experience.

To further support my research, Mr. Nilaweera introduced me to two key informants—one from the beach seine fishing community, near Mr. Nilaweera’s house, and the other from the deep-sea fishing community in Badugoda. These informants were invaluable to my work; both were highly knowledgeable and willing to share their insights. They patiently answered all my questions, explaining even the minutest details about the village’s social dynamics, fishing practices, and the distinctions between the two communities. Their guidance was instrumental in deepening my understanding of Mirissa’s complex social fabric.

Mr. Gilbert Weerasuriya, the informant from the beach seine community, possessed knowledge far surpassed that of many average villagers. He provided me with a detailed account of how beach seine nets were introduced to the village and traced the history of their evolution. He explained the traditional method of fishing, using these nets, describing how fish were caught by encircling shoals near the shore.

The first nets were made of coir and coconut leaves, which later used hemp thread to make the nets. The madiya, or the deep end of the net where the fish gets caught, is woven with hemp, while the side nets were made with coir lines.

Later in the 1950s nylon was introduced for beach seine nets, and the catch doubled with the new nets. According to him, the beach seine canoe fishermen originally came from the Coromandel Coast, in India, and eventually settled in beach communities, like Negombo and Mirissa, in Sri Lanka. He noted that similar fishing practices can also be found in coastal communities across India. Interestingly, the early beach seiners in these Sri Lankan communities spoke an Indian language, like Telugu, remnants of which were still present in the songs they sing while hauling the seine nets.

My search in the archives revealed that villagers in and around Mirissa had names ending in “Naide,” a corrupted form of an Indian name. In India, particularly in regions like Maharashtra or Karnataka, “Naide” could be a variant or misspelling of the surname “Naidu,” common among Telugu-speaking people. These family names can be found in school thomboos maintained by the Dutch.

In 1948, at Mirissa, there were only three groups of fishermen: beach seine fishermen, deep sea fishermen, and inshore fishermen. The total number of seine nets in 1947 was 242, owned by a group of 108 fishermen. The deep-sea canoes numbered around 50, operated by about 150 people. Inshore fishing was done in small dugout canoes known as Kuda Oru, with about 20 of them at that time. When I conducted my fieldwork, the numbers had dwindled. There were only six beach seine nets, about 50 deep sea fishermen operated boats and a few Kuda Oru operated by a handful of fishermen.

The process of beach seine fishing involved a large canoe that carried the nets out to sea. The fishermen would then lay the nets in a half-circle, encircling the shoal of fish. Once the nets were in place, the two ends of the circled net were handed over to two groups of fishermen, who began hauling the nets from the shore. At the centre of this operation was the lead fisherman, known as the “mannadirala,” who directed the entire process. The mannadirala would give precise instructions to the hauling groups, ensuring that they drew the net at a specific speed to prevent the fish from escaping through the net. His role was crucial, as the success of the catch depended on the mannalirala’s expertise in coordinating the efforts of the fishermen and controlling the net’s movement.

The beach seine net is owned in shares by various people in the village, and the shoal of fish brought to shore is distributed according to these share ownerships. One-fourth of the catch is allocated to the crew members, known as the “thandukarayo,” (rowers or peddlers) who undertake the challenging task of going out in the canoe to encircle the shoal of fish. Another one-fourth is given to the fishermen responsible for hauling the net at the two ends. A third portion is allocated to the individuals responsible for maintaining the net and the canoe.

The remaining portion is then divided among the shareholders. This division of shares occurs in monetary terms after the fish is sold to vendors and merchants in a process known as “vendesiya.” Additionally, it’s customary for every villager who participated in the fishing activity, even if they are not shareholders, to receive a few fish as a token of appreciation for their contribution. After the fish haul is taken to the shore, people like the mannadirala sort out the fish, separating the big ones from others, like sprats/anchovies or harmless fish. Fish suitable for the family, such as those beneficial for breastfeeding mothers, like kiri boollo, were taken home by the mannadirala and other key individuals.

I was particularly interested in tracing the history of deep-sea canoes, and my interviews with the key informant from the deep-sea fishing community proved invaluable in this regard. This informant, whose knowledge and wisdom were so widely respected that the villagers called him “Soulbury Sami” (Lord Soulbury), was a central figure in the community. Deep-sea fishermen frequently sought his advice on fishing grounds (hantan) and other aspects of deep-sea fishing.

One of the key questions I posed to him was about the number of canoes used for deep-sea fishing before the introduction of mechanized boats. His response was both simple and ingenious. Squatting on the beach, he explained that he could vividly recall who had parked their canoes on his deep-sea canoe’s right and left sides. He took a stick and drew the canoe the family-owned, saying, “This was our oruwa.” Then he drew two similar canoes on each side of his canoe drawn on the beach and said, “I can tell you who owned these two canoes parked beside ours.” He then suggested that I use this method as a starting point. By asking the families who had parked their canoes beside his about their neighbouring canoes, I could piece together a complete picture of the canoe ownership at that time.

This method was remarkably effective. By following his advice and speaking with the families involved, I eventually compiled a list of 48 canoes parked on the beach during the 1940s. This simple yet systematic approach gave me a clear and comprehensive understanding of the deep-sea fishing community’s history before the advent of mechanized boats.

Mirissa has now transformed from a quiet fishing village into a vibrant tourist hub over the past few decades. Once known for its beach seine fishing traditions, the village of Mirissa has evolved significantly over time. The introduction of three-and-a-half-ton boats and trollers modernized its fishing industry, moving the community from traditional fishing methods to more advanced deep-sea fishing. However, over the years, tourism has gradually overtaken fishing as the primary source of livelihood for many villagers. This shift highlights the community’s remarkable adaptability in embracing new opportunities, transforming from a primarily fishing-based economy into a thriving tourist destination.

This small but picturesque destination now boasts over a hundred hotels and boutique accommodations, offering various lodging options for visitors from all over the world. The trajectory of change and transition from being a fishing community focused on beach seine techniques—where nets were dragged ashore by hand—to deep-sea fishing and ultimately to tourism is remarkable. Today, Mirissa is known not for its fishing but for its breathtaking beaches, lush greenery, and panoramic views, making it a must-visit destination in Sri Lanka.

Mirissa’s natural beauty is complemented by an array of activities that attract adventure enthusiasts and nature lovers alike. Whale watching has become one of the village’s most prominent draws, with local boat operators offering tours where visitors can witness the magnificent blue whales, sperm whales, and dolphins in their natural habitat. Additionally, surfing and snorkeling are among the key attractions.

Tourism has brought prosperity to the local community, which depends less on traditional fishing and more on hospitality and tourism services. Many locals earn their livelihoods by operating guesthouses, hotels, and restaurants or by offering services like guided boat tours for whale watching, renting surfboards, and providing transportation for tourists. The once-close connection to the sea, driven by fishing, is now maintained through tourism, as the ocean remains central to the lives of the villagers, albeit in a different way.

Mirissa’s development into a tourist village has not only created economic opportunities. Still, it has also become a cultural melting pot where visitors can experience authentic Sri Lankan traditions, cuisine such as embul thiyal alongside the comforts of modern urban foods. This seamless blend of natural beauty, adventure, and cultural richness makes Mirissa a unique and beloved destination for travellers worldwide.

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Features

Iain Douglas-Hamilton: Science, courage, and the battle for elephants

Published

22 hours ago

2025/12/22

Thilina Walpola

Iain Douglas-Hamilton

Passing of Iain Douglas-Hamilton, a man who dedicated his life to conservation and whose life’s work leaves a lasting impact on our appreciation for, and understanding of, elephants.

– Prince William

In Africa on 08 December, 2025, when the sun slipped below the horizon, it did not only give an end for that day, but it also marked the end of a man whose knowledge and courage saved Africa’s elephants. This gentleman was none other than Iain Douglas-Hamilton! There is a beautiful African proverb that says, “When an old man dies, a library burns to the ground,” and it resonates well with Iain’s demise.

Iain pioneered behaviour research on elephants, and he was the first to highlight the elephant poaching crisis in Africa. Also, the adventures he went through to save the elephants will inspire generations.

From Oxford to Africa

The Life of the Last Proboscideans: Elephants”, authored by Muthukumarana, stands as an awardwinning, comprehensive study that integrates elephant evolution, anthropology, biology, behaviour, and conservation science.

Iain was born on 16 August, 1942, into an aristocratic family, the son of Lord David Douglas-Hamilton and Ann Prunella Stack. His parents were a distinguished couple in Britain: his father, a Scottish nobleman, served as a squadron leader in the Royal Air Force, while his mother was a pioneering figure in physical fitness and a prominent advocate for women’s rights. After finishing his school, Iain was admitted to Oxford University to study zoology. At the age of 23, for his PhD, Iain travelled to Tanzania to study the behaviour of elephants at Lake Manyara National Park. This was a daring and humble beginning that would change how the world understood elephants. He learnt to recognise individual animals based on their tusks and ears. He observed their family bonds, their grief, and their intelligence. These findings made the scientific community identify elephants as sentimental beings. During this period, he married Oria Rocco, and together they had two children, Saba and Mara.

Battle for the elephants

When ivory poaching swept across Africa and devastated elephant populations, Iain did not withdraw in despair. He confronted the crisis head-on, guided by science, rigorous data, and unwavering resolve. Through extensive aerial counts and field studies, he laid bare the scale of the tragedy—revealing that Africa’s elephant numbers had collapsed from an estimated 1.3 million to just about 600,000 in little more than 10 years.

It was largely thanks to his work that the global community saw—perhaps for the first time—the full scope of the crisis. His efforts played a pivotal role in pushing forward the 1989 international ban on ivory trade, a landmark moment for wildlife conservation.

In 1993, Iain founded Save the Elephants (STE), an organisation that would become the heart of elephant conservation efforts in Kenya and across Africa.

At STE, he pioneered the use of GPS-tracking and aerial survey techniques to monitor elephant movements, protect them from poaching, and plan safe corridors for them in increasingly human-dominated landscapes. These methods have since become standard tools in wildlife conservation worldwide.

Beyond technology and science, Iain was a mentor. He inspired — and continues to inspire — generations of conservationists, researchers, and everyday people who care deeply about wildlife. Through his books (such as Among the Elephants and Battle for the Elephants), documentaries, lectures, and personal example, he invited the world to see elephants not as trophies or commodities, but as sentient beings — worthy of awe, study, and protection.

Iain and Sri Lanka

In 2003 Iain came to Sri Lanka for the first time to attend the “Symposium on Human-Elephant Relationships and Conflict” as the keynote speaker. On that day he concluded his address by saying, “When I hear the talk of Problem Animal Control, I always wonder whether our species has the capacity for its own self-regulation or Problem Human Control in a humane and wise manner. HEC stands for Human Elephant Conflict, one of our focuses of this conference. How I wish it could come to stand for Human Elephant Coexistence, based on a recognition that other beings also need their space to live in. We are a long way from that, but I am sure that many of the findings of the talented body of researchers in this room will begin a stepwise progress in answering some of these fundamental problems.”

A few years ago Iain’s organisation STE collaborated with the Sri Lankan Wildlife Conservation Society for research activities aimed at reducing human-elephant conflict. In 2016 when the Sri Lankan government was going to destroy the confiscated illegal African elephant ivory, I made a request for Iain to write a congratulatory message to Sri Lanka’s President and Prime Minister for the wise decision they had taken. Iain sent me a four-page meaningful letter written by him, and he was joined by 18 other conservation organisations. In his letter he mentioned, “I want to offer my congratulations to the government of Sri Lanka for the laudable decision to destroy ivory stocks…” Sri Lanka is sending a message to the world that ivory should be without worth; elephants have value when alive. This is a critical message to send, particularly to the religious world, as they are sensitised about the threat religious ivory poses to elephant populations in Africa.”

Fortunately, Iain’s conservation is taken up by his children, especially his eldest daughter, Saba. In 2016 and 2024 she came to Sri Lanka for a lecture hosted by the Galle Literary Festival. Also in 2019, for the Wildlife and Nature Protection Society’s 125th Anniversary, Saba and her husband visited a gala dinner that was held to fundraise for conservation projects.

A difficult path

Iain’s path was never easy. He endured personal peril many times: from hostile terrain and unpredictable wild animals to being shot at by poachers while conducting aerial patrols over war-torn national parks.

Yet despite the danger, despite setbacks — flooded camps, lost data, shifting political tides — his conviction never wavered. His was a life marked by resilience. He refused complacency. He refused to surrender. And through every hardship, he remembered why he began: to give elephants a future.

Iain was also a pilot, and as the old English saying goes, “Pilots don’t die; they simply fly higher.” In that spirit, I wish the same peaceful ascent for Iain. My heartfelt condolences are with Iain’s family.

by Tharindu Muthukumarana ✍️
tharinduele@gmail.com
(Author of the award-winning book “The Life of Last Proboscideans: Elephants”)

Features

Awesome power of gratitude

Published

22 hours ago

2025/12/22

Thilina Walpola

When you hear the word gratitude the first impression you get is a tail-wagging dog. If you feed a dog one day, it will wag its tail even if you meet it after a few years. That is gratitude. In addition, dogs are great teachers. They are at home in the world. They live in the moment and they force us to stay with them. Dogs love us and remain grateful unconditionally not for our bodies or bank accounts.

Small children are taught to say ‘Thank you’ for any favour they receive from others. They do not know that the two words can have positive effects on your health and the well-being of others.

Some time ago I had to call emergency services as I found one of my family members was unconscious. Within minutes an ambulance arrived and the paramedics whisked the patient away to the nearest hospital. He was in intensive care for a few days and returned home. We were marvelled at the impact of a handful of strangers who took charge of the patient at a critical time. I immediately wrote thank you notes to those who saved the patient’s life. I knew that it was a small gesture on my part. However, it was the only way I could express my gratitude to a dedicated team.

Selfless people

Later I realized that there are a large number of selfless people who do life-saving work, but they never expect anything in return. How volunteers saved a large number of flood victims is a case in point. The flood victims may not have expressed their gratitude in so many words. However, they would have felt a deep sense of gratitude to the volunteers who saved them.

Why do people come forward to help those facing natural disasters and other dangerous situations? A recent research in the United States shows that sharing thoughts of gratitude and performing acts of kindness can boost your mood and have other positive effects on your health. Almost all religions teach that gratitude does have a good impact on your happiness. Professor of Psychology Willibald Ruch says that gratitude is among the top five predictors of happiness.

By showing gratitude you can make positive changes in your own life. If you feel a sense of gratitude whenever you receive something that is good for you, it will be a healthy sign. You cannot get such a feeling in a vacuum because others have to play their roles. They can be your loved ones, friends, strangers or even people in authority. Gratitude is how you relate to them when you see yourself in connection with things larger than yourself.

Gratification lifestyle

Strangely, many people do not pause to appreciate what others are doing for them. For this you have to blame your gratification lifestyle. With the popularity of social media the young people feel that they are the centre of the universe. They seem to think there is no necessity to thank those who help them.

Why should we thank others even for minor favours? Recent studies show that those who express gratitude increase their own happiness levels. They also lower their blood pressure levels to a great extent. On the other hand, they will be able to sleep well and improve their relationships. They are also less affected by pain because of the positive impact on their depression.

They may not know that positive effects of gratitude are long lasting. Research shows that those who write thank you notes improve their mental health. There was also a decrease in their bodily pains. What is more, they feel more energetic in completing their daily activities. Unfortunately, schools and universities do not teach the value of gratitude since it is fairly a new field of study. Researchers are still trying to find out its cause and effect relationship. We know that those who perform acts of gratitude can sleep well. However, we do not know the reason for it. Researchers are wondering whether gratitude leads to better sleep or sleep leads to more gratitude. They also probe whether there is another variable that leads to gratitude and improved sleep.

Children

Despite such controversies, we know for certain that gratitude can benefit people at any stage of life. Most elderly people remain grateful for their children and grandchildren who support them. Elderly people cannot regain their physical strength or mental agility. Therefore they focus on gratitude. They are thankful to their children and grandchildren for their present situation.

How do gratitude recipients react? Research shows that those who receive thank you notes or acts of kindness experience positive emotions. You feel happy when someone holds a door open for you. Similarly, you are happy if you receive some unexpected help. Recently I was pleasantly surprised to see that someone has credited a big sum of money to my bank account in appreciation of a small favour I had done.

When you thank someone they are more likely to return the favour or pay kindness forward. Psychologically, people feel very happy when you thank them. However, some people hesitate to say thank you. The give-and-take of gratitude deepens relationships. In a close relationship husbands and wives do not thank each other. However, there are other ways of showing gratitude. A wife can make her husband feel appreciated. Such a feeling of appreciation will go a long way to strengthen their relationship.

Some people are ungrateful by nature. However, they can learn the art of being grateful. Such people will do well to maintain a gratitude journal. It is something similar to Pinpotha maintained by Buddhists in the past. They can record positive events in the journal. At the beginning this may not be easy. With practice, however, you can do it well. I knew of a man who kept a gratitude journal. Although his family members laughed at him, he did not give up the habit. When he was diagnosed with a terminal disease he used to read his gratitude journal very happily.

By R.S. Karunaratne ✍️

Features

Another Christmas, Another Disaster, Another Recovery Mountain to Climb

Published

2 days ago

2025/12/21

Thilina Walpola

In line with its overall response to Cyclone Ditwah that devastated many parts of Sri Lanka, India has undertaken to set up temporary Bailey Bridges at selected locations. Work on the first such bridge has begun in Kilinochchi on the Paranthan–Karaichi–Mullaitivu A35 road. Indian Army engineers are working with their counterparts. The Indian HC said that 185 tonnes of Bailey Bridge units were airlifted to restore critical connectivity, along with 44 engineers (Pic courtesy IHC)

The 2004 Asian Tsunami erupted the day after Christmas. Like the Boxing Day Test Match in Brisbane, it was a boxing day bolt for Indonesia, Thailand, Sri Lanka, India and Maldives. Twenty one years later, in 2025, multiple Asian cyclones hit almost all the old victims and added a few more, including Malayasia, Vietnam and Cambodia. Indonesia and Sri Lanka were hit hard both times. Unlike the 2004 Tsunami, the 2025 cyclones made landfalls weeks before Christmas, during the Christian Season of Advent, the four-week period before Christmas preparing for the arrival of the Messiah. An ominously adventus manifestation of the nature’s fury.

Yet it was not the “day of wrath and doom impending … heaven and earth in ashes ending” – heavenly punishment for government lying, as an opposition politician ignorantly asserted. By that token, the gods must have opted to punish half a dozen other Asian countries for the NPP government’s lying in Sri Lanka. Or all those governments have been caught lying. Everyone is caught and punished for lying, except the world’s Commander in Chief for lying – Donald J. Trump. But as of late and none too sooner, President Trump is getting his punishment in spades. Who would have thought?

In fairness, even the Catholic Church has banished its old hymn of wrath (Dies irae, dies illa) that used to be sung at funerals from its current Missals; and it has on offer, many other hymns of peace and joy, especially befitting the Christmas season. Although this year’s Christmas comes after weeks of havoc caused by cyclonic storms and torrential rains, the spirit of the season, both in its religious and secular senses, will hopefully provide some solace for those still suffering and some optimism to everyone who is trying to uplift the country from its overflowing waterways and sliding slopes.

As the scale of devastation goes, no natural disaster likely will surpass the human fatalities that the 2004 Tsunami caused. But the spread and scale of this year’s cyclone destruction, especially the destruction of the island’s land-forms and its infrastructure assets, are, in my view, quite unprecedented. The scale of the disaster would finally seem to have sunk into the nation’s political skulls after a few weeks of cacophonic howlers – asking who knew and did what and when. The quest for instant solutions and the insistence that the government should somehow find them immediately are no longer as vehement and voluble as they were when they first emerged.

NBRO and Landslides

But there is understandable frustration and even fear all around, including among government ministers. To wit, the reported frustration of Agriculture Minister K.D. Lalkantha at the alleged inability of the National Building Research Organization (NBRO) to provide more specific directions in landslide warnings instead of issuing blanket ‘Level 3 Red Alerts’ covering whole administrative divisions in the Central Province, especially in the Kandy District. “We can’t relocate all 20 divisional secretariats” in the Kandy District, the Minister told the media a few weeks ago. His frustration is understandable, but expecting NBRO to provide political leaders with precise locations and certainty of landslides or no landslides is a tall ask and the task is fraught with many challenges.

In fairness to NBRO and its Engineers, their competence and their responses to the current calamity have been very impressive. It is not the fault of the NBRO that local disasters could not be prevented, and people could not be warned sufficiently in advance to evacuate and avoid being at the epicentre of landslides. The intensity of landslides this year is really a function of the intensity and persistence of rainfall this season, for the occurrence of landslides in Sri Lanka is very directly co-related to the amount of rainfall. The rainfall during this disaster season has been simply relentless.

Evacuation, the ready remedy, is easier said than socially and politically done. Minister Lal Kantha was exasperated at the prospect of evacuating whole divisional secretariats. This was after multiple landslides and the tragedies and disasters they caused. Imagine anybody seriously listening to NBRO’s pleas or warnings to evacuate before any drop of rainwater has fallen, not to mention a single landslide. Ignoring weather warnings is not peculiar to Sri Lanka, but a universal trait of social inertia.

I just lauded NBRO’s competence and expertise. That is because of the excellent database the NBRO professionals have compiled, delineating landslide zones and demarcating them based on their vulnerability for slope failure. They have also identified the main factors causing landslides, undertaken slope stabilization measures where feasible, and developed preventative and mitigative measures to deal with landslide occurrences.

The NBRO has been around since the 1980s, when its pioneers supplemented the work of Prof. Thurairajah at Peradeniya E’Fac in studying the Hantana hill slopes where the NHDA was undertaking a large housing scheme. As someone who was involved in the Hantana project, I have often thought that the initiation of the NBRO could be deemed one of the positive legacies of then Housing Ministry Secretary R. Paskaralingam.

Be that as it may, the NBRO it has been tracking and analyzing landslides in Sri Lanka for nearly three decades, and would seem to have come of age in landslides expertise with its work following 2016 Aranayake Landslide Disaster in the Kegalle District. Technically, the Aranayake disaster is a remarkable phenomenon and it is known as a “rain-induced rapid long-travelling landslide” (RRLL). In Kegalle the 2016 RRLL carried “a fluidized landslide mass over a distance of 2 km” and caused the death of 125 people. International technical collaboration following the disaster produced significant research work and the start of a five-year research project (from 2020) in partnership with the International Consortium on Landslides (ICL). The main purpose of the project is to improve on the early warning systems that NBRO has been developing and using since 2007.

Sri Lankan landslides are rain induced and occur in hilly and mountainous areas where there is rapid weathering of rock into surface soil deposits. Landslide locations are invariably in the wet zone of the country, in 13 districts, in six provinces (viz., the Central, Sabaragamuwa, Uva, Northwestern, Western and Southern, provinces). The Figure below (from NBRO’s literature) shows the number of landslides and fatalities every year between 2003 and 2021.

Based on the graphics shown, there would have been about 5,000 landslides and slope failures with nearly 1,000 deaths over 19 years between 2003 and 2021. Every year there was some landslide or slope failure activity. One notable feature is that there have been more deaths with fewer landslides and vice-versa in particular years. In 2018, there were no deaths when the highest number (1,250) of landslides and slope failures occurred that year. Although the largest number in an year, the landslides in 2018 could have been minor and occurred in unpopulated areas. The reasons for more deaths in, say, 2016 (150) or 2017 (250+), could be their location, population density and the severity of specific landslides.

NBRO’s landslide early warning system is based on three components: (1) Predicting rainfall intensity and monitoring water pressure build up in landslide areas; (2) Monitoring and observing signs of soil movement and slope instability in vulnerable areas; and (3) Communicating landslide risk level and appropriate warning to civil authorities and the local public. The general warnings to Watch (Yellow), be Alert (Brown), or Evacuate (Red) are respectively based on the anticipated rainfall intensities, viz., 75 mm/day, 100 mm/day; and 150 mm/day or 100 mm/hr. My understanding is that over the years, NBRO has established its local presence in vulnerable areas to better communicate with the local population the risk levels and timely action.

Besides Landslides

This year, the rain has been relentless with short-term intensities often exceeding the once per 100-year rainfall. This is now a fact of life in the era of climate change. Added to this was cyclone Ditwah and its unique meteorology and trajectory – from south to north rather than northeast to southwest. The cyclone started with a disturbance southwest of Sri Lanka in the Arabian Sea, traversed around the southern coast from west to east to southeast in the Bay of Bengal, and then cut a wide swath from south to north through the entire easterly half of the island. The origin and the trajectory of the cyclone are also attributed to climate change and changes in the Arabian Sea. The upshot again is unpredictability.

Besides landslides, the rainfall this season has inundated and impacted practically every watershed in the country, literally sweeping away roads, bridges, tanks, canals, and small dams in their hundreds or several hundreds. The longitudinal sinking of the Colombo-Kandy Road in the Kadugannawa area seems quite unparalleled and this may not be the only location that such a shearing may have occurred. The damages are so extensive and it is beyond Sri Lanka’s capacity, and the single-term capacity of any government, to undertake systematic rebuilding of the damaged and washed-off infrastructure.

The government has its work cutout at least in three areas of immediate restoration and long term prevention. On landslides warning, it would seem NBRO has the technical capacity to do what it needs to do, and what seems to be missing is a system of multi-pronged and continuous engagement between the technical experts, on the one hand, and the political and administrative powers as well as local population and institutions, on the other. Such an arrangement is warranted because the landslide problem is severe, significant and it not going to go away now or ever.

Such an engagement will also provide for the technical awareness of the problem, its mitigation and the prevention of serious fallouts. A restructuring could start from the assignment of ministerial responsibilities, and giving NBRO experts constant presence at the highest level of decision making. The engagement should extend down the pyramid to involve every level of administration, including schools and civil society organizations at the local level.

As for external resources, several Asian countries, with India being the closest, are already engaged in multiple ways. It is up to the government to co-ordinate and deploy these friendly resources for maximum results. Sri Lanka is already teamed with India for meteorological monitoring and forecasting, and with Japan for landslide research and studies. These collaborations will obviously continue but they should be focused to fill gaps in climate predictions, and to enhance local level monitoring and prevention of landslides.

To deal with the restoration of the damaged infrastructure in multiple watershed areas, the government may want to revisit the Accelerated Mahaweli Scheme for an approach to deal with the current crisis. The genesis and implementation of that scheme involved as many flaws as it produced benefits, but what might be relevant here is to approach the different countries who were involved in funding and building the different Mahaweli headworks and downstream projects. Australia, Britain, Canada, China, Italy, Japan, Sweden and Germany are some of the countries that were involved in the old Mahaweli projects. They could be approached for technical and financial assistance to restore the damaged infrastructure pieces in the respective watershed areas where these countries were involved.

by Rajan Philips ✍️