Standing on the southern tip of the island at Dondra Head, where the Indian Ocean stretches endlessly in every direction, it is difficult to imagine that beneath those restless blue waves lies one of the greatest wildlife spectacles on Earth.

Yet, according to Dr. Ranil Nanayakkara, Sri Lanka today is not just another tropical island with pretty beaches – it is one of the best places in the world to see blue whales, the largest animals ever to have lived on this planet.

“The waters around Sri Lanka are particularly good for blue whales due to a unique combination of geography and oceanographic conditions,” Dr. Nanayakkara told The Island. “We have a reliable and rich food source, and most importantly, a unique, year-round resident population.”

In a world where blue whales usually migrate thousands of kilometres between polar feeding grounds and tropical breeding areas, Sri Lanka offers something extraordinary – a non-migratory population of pygmy blue whales (Balaenoptera musculus indica) that stay around the island throughout the year. Instead of travelling to Antarctica, these giants simply shift their feeding grounds around the island, moving between the south and east coasts with the monsoons.

The secret lies beneath the surface. Seasonal monsoonal currents trigger upwelling of cold, nutrient-rich water, which fuels massive blooms of phytoplankton. This, in turn, supports dense swarms of Sergestidae shrimps – tiny creatures that form the primary diet of Sri Lanka’s blue whales.

“Blue whales require dense aggregations of these shrimps to meet their massive energy needs,” Dr. Nanayakkara explained. “And the waters around Dondra Head and Trincomalee provide exactly that.”

Adding to this natural advantage is Sri Lanka’s narrow continental shelf. The seabed drops sharply into deep oceanic canyons just a few kilometres from the shore. This allows whales to feed in deep waters while remaining close enough to land to be observed from places like Mirissa and Trincomalee – a rare phenomenon anywhere in the world.

Dr. Nanayakkara’s journey into marine research began not in a laboratory, but in front of a television screen. As a child, he was captivated by the documentary Whales Weep Not by James R. Donaldson III – the first visual documentation of sperm and blue whales in Sri Lankan waters.

“That documentary planted the seed,” he recalled. “But what truly set my path was my first encounter with a sperm whale off Trincomalee. Seeing that animal surface just metres away was humbling. It made me realise that despite decades of conflict on land, Sri Lanka harbours globally significant marine treasures.”

Since then, his work has focused on cetaceans – from blue whales and sperm whales to tropical killer whales and elusive beaked whales. What continues to inspire him is both the scientific mystery and the human connection.

“These blue whales do not follow typical migration patterns. Their life cycles, communication and adaptability are still not fully understood,” he said. “And at the same time, seeing the awe in people’s eyes during whale watching trips reminds me why this work matters.”

Whale watching has become one of Sri Lanka’s fastest-growing tourism industries. On the south coast alone, thousands of tourists head out to sea every year in search of a glimpse of the giants. But Dr. Nanayakkara warned that without strict regulation, this boom could become a curse.

“We already have good guidelines – vessels must stay at least 100 metres away and maintain slow speeds,” he noted. “The problem is enforcement.”

Speaking to The Island, he stressed that Sri Lanka stands at a critical crossroads. “We can either become a global model for responsible ocean stewardship, or we can allow short-term economic interests to erode one of the most extraordinary marine ecosystems on the planet. The choice we make today will determine whether these giants continue to swim in our waters tomorrow.”

Beyond tourism, a far more dangerous threat looms over Sri Lanka’s whales – commercial shipping traffic. The main east-west shipping lanes pass directly through key blue whale habitats off the southern coast.

“The science is very clear,” Dr. Nanayakkara told The Island. “If we move the shipping lanes just 15 nautical miles south, we can reduce the risk of collisions by up to 95 percent.”

Such a move, however, requires political will and international cooperation through bodies like the International Maritime Organization and the International Whaling Commission.

“Ships travelling faster than 14 knots are far more likely to cause fatal injuries,” he added. “Reducing speeds to 10 knots in high-risk areas can cut fatal strikes by up to 90 percent. This is not guesswork – it is solid science.”

To most people, whales are simply majestic animals. But in ecological terms, they are far more than that – they are engineers of the ocean system itself.

Through a process known as the “whale pump”, whales bring nutrients from deep waters to the surface through their faeces, fertilising phytoplankton. These microscopic plants absorb vast amounts of carbon dioxide, making whales indirect allies in the fight against climate change.

“When whales die and sink, they take all that carbon with them to the deep sea,” Dr. Nanayakkara said. “They literally lock carbon away for centuries.”

Dr. Ranil Nanayakkara

Even in death, whales create life. “Whale falls” – carcasses on the ocean floor – support unique deep-sea communities for decades.

“Protecting whales is not just about saving a species,” he said. “It is about protecting the ocean’s ability to function as a life-support system for the planet.”

For Dr. Nanayakkara, whales are not abstract data points – they are individuals with personalities and histories.

One of his most memorable encounters was with a female sperm whale nicknamed “Jaw”, missing part of her lower jaw.

“She surfaced right beside our boat, her massive eye level with mine,” he recalled. “In that moment, the line between observer and observed blurred. It was a reminder that these are sentient beings, not just research subjects.”

Another was with a tropical killer whale matriarch called “Notch”, who surfaced with her calf after a hunt.

“It felt like she was showing her offspring to us,” he said softly. “There was pride in her movement. It was extraordinary.”

Looking ahead, Dr. Nanayakkara envisions Sri Lanka as a global leader in a sustainable blue economy – where conservation and development go hand in hand.

“The ultimate goal is shared stewardship,” he told The Island. “When fishermen see healthy reefs as future income, and tour operators see protected whales as their greatest asset, conservation becomes everyone’s business.”

In the end, Sri Lanka’s greatest natural inheritance may not be its forests or mountains, but the silent giants gliding through its surrounding seas.

“Our ocean health is our greatest asset,” Dr. Nanayakkara said in conclusion. “If we protect it wisely, these whales will not just survive – they will define Sri Lanka’s place in the world.”

By Ifham Nizam

Sri Lanka awoke on the morning of 13 February, 2026, to the quiet passing of Professor Tissa Vitarana at his home in Nawala. With him departs not only a towering figure in science and public life, but also a rare national conscience—one that insisted, often against prevailing currents, that science, technology, and innovation must serve the people, the nation, and the future.

I had known Professor Vitarana from my early childhood and vividly recall his visits to our home in the 1970s and 1980s to meet my father, the late Mr. G. V. S. de Silva. At the time, I could not have imagined that he would later become one of the most pivotal teachers and mentors in my life. My first professional engagement with him came in 1986, when I was assigned to the Medical Research Institute (MRI) by the Postgraduate Institute of Medicine (PGIM) for my postgraduate training in microbiology. That encounter marked the beginning of a professional journey shaped profoundly by his guidance.

To me, he was first a teacher, then a mentor, later a colleague and a friend—and always a source of intellectual provocation and moral steadiness. My own professional life—its direction, ambitions, and even its internal debates—was deeply influenced by my association with him. I was privileged to work closely with Prof. Vitarana during what can only be described as the most consequential period in the evolution of Sri Lanka’s science and innovation ecosystem since independence.

Teacher and reformer of medical education

Before Prof. Vitarana became a national figure in science policy, he was, at heart, a scientist and an academic institution builder. In 1995, shortly after his retirement from the MRI, he was appointed Founder Professor of Microbiology at the newly established Faculty of Medical Sciences, University of Sri Jayewardenepura. The faculty was young, resources were limited, and expectations were high—but he saw in it an opportunity not to replicate inherited models, but to rethink them.

In 1996, I joined the faculty as Senior Lecturer in Microbiology, beginning a long and formative professional partnership. Working closely together, we shared a conviction that medical microbiology education in Sri Lanka needed to move decisively beyond the traditional organism-centred—often disparagingly termed “bug-based”—approach. We believed instead in a disease-oriented curriculum, integrating pathogens with clinical presentation, diagnosis, epidemiology, and public-health relevance.

Implementing this shift was far from easy. It challenged entrenched academic traditions and demanded both pedagogical courage and strong institutional backing. Prof. Vitarana provided both. With his guidance and support, the Faculty of Medical Sciences at Jayewardenepura became the first in Sri Lanka to introduce a fully comprehensive disease-oriented microbiology curriculum—an approach that subsequently influenced teaching practices across other medical faculties. In retrospect, this episode foreshadowed the principles that would later define his national work: clarity of vision, patience in execution, and the willingness to question inherited structures.

A scientist who entered politics—without abandoning science

A Fellow of the National Academy of Sciences of Sri Lanka, Prof. Vitarana was, unequivocally, a scientist. Trained in medicine, bacteriology, and virology, he built an international reputation through his work at the MRI, which he later led as Director. His scientific credentials were never in doubt. Yet history will remember him most distinctly as a politician who refused to abandon science, even when politics would have made that the easier choice.

When he entered Parliament and later assumed office as Minister of Science and Technology, Sri Lanka’s science system was fragmented, underfunded, and largely disconnected from national development. Research institutions operated in silos; universities engaged minimally with industry; and innovation was barely part of the national vocabulary. Public investment in R&D was low, private-sector participation negligible, and science was often viewed as a luxury rather than a necessity.

Prof. Vitarana recognised this reality clearly—and refused to accept it as inevitable.

The courage to think systemically

One of his most enduring contributions was his insistence that science could not advance in isolation. It required strategy, coordination, institutions, and—above all—political will. This conviction shaped every major initiative he championed.

Under his leadership and encouragement, Sri Lanka embarked on the National Nanotechnology Initiative (NNI)—a bold and, at the time, audacious decision, taken amidst civil war and severe fiscal constraints. The idea was simple yet transformative: instead of dispersing scarce scientific resources across multiple institutions, Sri Lanka would converge them into a single, high-end strategic platform, built through a public–private partnership and aligned with industry needs.

This vision led to the establishment of the Sri Lanka Institute of Nanotechnology (SLINTEC)—an institution that has since become a symbol of what Sri Lankan science can achieve when provided autonomy, infrastructure, and purpose. SLINTEC’s early successes—US patents, technology licensing, international recognition, and growing private-sector confidence—did more than validate a model; they reshaped mindsets. Policymakers began to believe. Industry began to invest. Young scientists began to stay.

That catalytic impact is now embedded in Sri Lanka’s institutional memory.

Strategy before slogans

Prof. Vitarana was never content with isolated success stories. He understood that without a national framework, innovation would remain episodic and fragile. This belief culminated in the formulation of Sri Lanka’s first National Science, Technology and Innovation (STI) Strategy, approved by Cabinet in 2010 and subsequently presented to Parliament.

The strategy was pragmatic, time-bound, and unflinchingly honest about national weaknesses. It set measurable targets, linked science to economic transformation, and recognised that innovation must serve not only growth, but also equity and sustainability.

To translate strategy into action, Prof. Vitarana supported the establishment of the Coordinating Secretariat for Science, Technology and Innovation (COSTI)—designed to break institutional silos, align ministries, and ensure that public investment in research translated into tangible societal benefit. Despite bureaucratic resistance and political turbulence, COSTI endured and eventually evolved into the National Innovation Agency (NIA), formalised through an Act of Parliament. Few initiatives better illustrate his patience, persistence, and long-term vision.

From nanotechnology to biotechnology: extending the vision

Prof. Vitarana’s system-level thinking did not stop with nanotechnology. As our work through COSTI matured, he urged us to look further—to biotechnology as a strategic national capability, capable of leveraging Sri Lanka’s rich biological resources and scientific talent. In this context, he conceptualised the Sri Lanka Institute of Biotechnology (SLIBTEC) as a complementary pillar to SLINTEC, anchoring advanced biotechnology research, translation, and commercialisation within a coherent national framework.

Technology to the village: the moral core of his politics

Among his many achievements, Prof. Vitarana often spoke most passionately about the Vidatha programme. This was not about advanced laboratories or international patents; it was about taking technology to the village, empowering micro- and small-scale enterprises, and ensuring that innovation did not remain an urban or elite privilege.

Although I was not directly involved in its implementation, we had many discussions on Vidatha. He welcomed critical feedback and remained unwavering in his belief that science must touch everyday life. Vidatha was, in many ways, the moral anchor of his science policy—an expression of his deep commitment to social justice and inclusive development.

Quality, credibility, and trust in science

What distinguished Prof. Vitarana was not only his appetite for innovation, but his insistence on quality and credibility. He believed deeply that science must earn public trust. I clearly recall his firm insistence on introducing accreditation for medical and testing laboratories, long before quality assurance became fashionable policy language. I was privileged to be part of those early efforts.

This conviction culminated in the establishment of the Sri Lanka Accreditation Board (SLAB), strengthening the integrity of scientific and technical services across the country. For Prof. Vitarana, accreditation was not bureaucracy—it was the backbone of trust.

The unfinished dreams

Not all our shared visions came to fruition. We collectively envisioned the establishment of a National Science Centre cum explaratorium —a space where science would meet society, curiosity would be nurtured, and scientific literacy cultivated across generations. Plans were drawn, concepts refined, and momentum built. Yet political shifts, bureaucratic inertia, and changing priorities meant the project never materialised.

Prof. Vitarana accepted these disappointments with remarkable equanimity. He understood that nation-building is rarely linear and that progress often outlives its original champions.

A mentor who trusted, not micromanaged

On a personal level, Prof. Vitarana gave me something invaluable: intellectual freedom. He trusted people, delegated responsibility, and never micromanaged. When obstacles arose—often from the bureaucracy or the Treasury—he stood as a buffer, absorbing pressure so others could continue their work.

There were moments of frustration. He loved politics—perhaps more than science—and that occasionally irritated me. Our philosophical disagreements were real and sometimes sharp, shaped by his political ideology and my own Buddhist-influenced thinking. Yet they were always respectful, often enriching, and never diminished the mutual regard we shared.

A legacy that endures

Today, institutions such as SLINTEC, COSTI/NIA, SLIBTEC, and SLAB stand not merely as organisations, but as embodied ideas—proof that Sri Lanka can think strategically, act boldly, and build sustainably.

Prof. Tissa Vitarana’s greatest legacy may well be this: he convinced a generation that Sri Lankan scientists, technologists, and entrepreneurs are capable of excellence—provided they are trusted, supported, and allowed to work within a conducive ecosystem. He shifted national conversations, altered institutional trajectories, and left an imprint that will outlast political cycles.

I shall miss him deeply—not only for his guidance and steadfast support, but also for the arguments, the laughter, the impatience, and the shared hope that Sri Lanka could do better, think bigger, and act wiser.

May his journey through sansara be short!
And may the nation he served with such conviction remember, protect, and build upon the foundations he laid!

by Sirimali Fernando

Former Science Advisor to the Minister of Science and Technology
Former Chairperson, National Science Foundation
Former CEO, COSTI
Founder Board Member – SLINTEC
Founder Board Member – SLAB
Current Board Member – SLIBTEC
Former Senior Professor of Microbiology, Faculty of Medical Sciences, USJP

In politics, there is the grand language and the simple words. As they say in North America, you don’t need a $20-word or $50-word where a simple $5-world will do. There is also the formal and the functional. People of different categories can functionally get along without always needing formal arrangements involving constitutional structures and rights declarations. The latter are necessary and needed to protect the weak from the bullies, especially from the bullying instruments of the state, or for protecting a small country from a Trump state. In the society at large, people can get along in their daily lives in spite of differences between them, provided they are left alone without busybody interferences.

There have been too many busybody interferences in Sri Lanka in all the years after independence, so much so they exploded into violence that took a toll on everyone for as many as many as 26 (1983-2009) years. The fight was over grand language matters – selective claims of history, sovereignty assertions and self-determination counters, and territorial litigations – you name it. The lives of ordinary people, even those living in their isolated corners and communicating in the simple words of life, were turned upside down. Ironically in their name and as often in the name of ‘future generations yet unborn’ – to recall the old political rhetoric always in full flight. The current American anti-abortionists would have loved this deference to unborn babies.

At the end of it all came the call for Reconciliation. The term and concept are a direct outcome of South Africa’s post-apartheid experience. Quite laudably, the concept of reconciliation is based on choosing restorative justice as opposed to retributive justice, forgiveness over prosecution and reparation over retaliation. The concept was soon turned into a remedial toolkit for societies and polities emerging from autocracies and/or civil wars. Even though, South Africa’s apartheid and post-apartheid experiences are quite unique and quite different from experiences elsewhere, there was also the common sharing among them of both the colonial and postcolonial experiences.

The experience of facilitating and implementing reconciliation, however, has not been wholly positive or encouraging. The results have been mixed even in South Africa, even though it is difficult to imagine a different path South Africa could have taken to launch its post-apartheid era. There is no resounding success elsewhere, mostly instances of non-starters and stallers. There are also signs of acknowledgement among activists and academics that the project of reconciliation has more roadblocks to overcome than springboards for taking off.

Ultimately, if state power is not fully behind it the reconciliation project is not likely to take off, let alone succeed. The irony is that it is the abuse of state power that created the necessity for reconciliation in the first place. Now, the full blessing and weight of state power is needed to deliver reconciliation.

Sri Lanka’s Reconciliation Journey

After the end of the war in 2009, Sri Lanka was an obvious candidate for reconciliation by every objective measure or metric. This was so for most of the external actors, but there were differences in the extent of support and in their relationship with the Sri Lankan government. The Rajapaksa government that saw the end of the war was clearly more reluctant than enthusiastic about embarking on the reconciliation journey. But they could not totally disavow it because of external pressure. The Tamil political leadership spurred on by expatriate Tamils was insistent on maximalist claims as part of reconciliation, with a not too subtle tone of retribution rather than restoration.

As for the people at large, there was lukewarm interest among the Sinhalese at best, along with strident opposition by the more nationalistic sections. The Tamils living in the north and east had too much to do putting their shattered lives together to have any energy left to expend on the grand claims of reconciliation. The expatriates were more fortuitously placed to be totally insistent on making maximalist claims and vigorously lobbying the western governments to take a hardline against the Sri Lankan government. The singular bone of contention was about alleged war crimes and their investigation, and that totally divided the political actors over the very purpose of reconciliation – grand or simple.

By far the most significant contribution of the Rajapaksa government towards reconciliation was the establishment of the Lessons Learnt and Reconciliation Commission (LLRC) that released its Report and recommendations on December 16, 2011, which turned out to be the 40th anniversary of the liberation of Bangladesh. I noted the irony of it in my Sunday Island article at that time.

Its shortcomings notwithstanding, the LLRC Report included many practical recommendations, viz., demilitarization of the North and East; dismantling of High Security Zones and the release of confiscated houses and farmland back to the original property owners; rehabilitation of impacted families and child soldiers; ending unlawful detention; and the return of internally displaced people including Muslims who were forced out of Jaffna during the early stages of the war. There were other recommendations regarding the record of missing persons and claims for reparation.

The implementation of these practical measures was tardy at best or totally ignored at worst. What could have been a simple but effective reconciliation program of implementation was swept away by the assertion of the grand claims of reconciliation. In the first, and so far only, Northern Provincial Council election in 2013, the TNA swept the board, winning 30 out of 38 seats in provincial council. The TNA’s handpicked a Chief Minister parachuted from Colombo, CV Wigneswaran, was supposed to be a bridge builder and was widely expected to bring much needed redress to the people in the devastated districts of the Northern Province. Instead, he wasted a whole term – bandying the claim of genocide and the genealogy of Tamil. Neither was his mandated business, and rather than being a bridge builder he turned out to be a total wrecking ball.

The Ultimate Betrayal

The Rajapaksa government mischievously poked the Chief Minister by being inflexible on the meddling by the Governor and the appointment of the Provincial Secretary. The 2015 change in government and the duopolistic regime of Maithripala Sirisena as President and Ranil Wickremesinghe as Prime Minister brought about a change in tone and a spurt for the hopes of reconciliation. In the parliamentary contraption that only Ranil Wickremesinghe was capable of, the cabinet of ministers included both UNP and SLFP MPs, while the TNA was both a part of the government and the leading Opposition Party in parliament. Even the JVP straddled the aisle between the government and the opposition in what was hailed as the yahapalana experiment. The experiment collapsed even as it began by the scandal of the notorious bond scam.

The project of reconciliation limped along as increased hopes were frustrated by persistent inaction. Foreign Minister Mangala Samaraweera struck an inclusive tone at the UNHRC and among his western admirers but could not quite translate his promises abroad into progress at home. The Chief Minister proved to be as intransigent as ever and the TNA could not make any positively lasting impact on the one elected body for exercising devolved powers, for which the alliance and all its predecessors have been agitating for from the time SJV Chelvanayakam broke away from GG Ponnambalam’s Tamil Congress in 1949 and set up the Ilankai Tamil Arasu Kadchi aka the Federal Party.

The ultimate betrayal came when the TNA acceded to the Sirisena-Wickremesinghe government’s decision to indefinitely postpone the Provincial Council elections that were due in 2018, and let the Northern Provincial Council and all other provincial councils slip into abeyance. That is where things are now. There is a website for the Northern Provincial Council even though there is no elected council or any indication of a date for the long overdue provincial council elections. The website merely serves as a notice board for the central government’s initiatives in the north through its unelected appointees such as the Provincial Governor and the Secretary.

Yet there has been some progress made in implementing the LLRC recommendations although not nearly as much as could have been done. Much work has been done in the restoration of physical infrastructure but almost all of which under contracts by the central government without any provincial participation. Clearing of the land infested by landmines is another area where there has been much progress. While welcoming de-mining, it is also necessary to reflect on the madness that led to such an extensive broadcasting of landmines in the first place – turning farmland into killing and maiming fields.

On the institutional front, the Office on Missing Persons (OMP) and the Office for Reparations have been established but their operations and contributions are yet being streamlined. These agencies have also been criticized for their lack of transparency and lack of welcome towards victims. While there has been physical resettlement of displaced people their emotional rehabilitation is quite a distance away. The main cause for this is the chronically unsettled land issue and the continuingly disproportionate military presence in the northern districts.

(Next week: Reconciliation and the NPP Government)

by Rajan Philips