Author name: Hasini Lecamwasam

Sri Lanka is now at the crossroads with a new regime in formation that has to choose from different social and economic pathways for the country. In the United States, Trump is back with a fascist tide that is likely to sweep the world. In this context, what will become of the long journey of free education in Sri Lanka?

The trend in Sri Lanka after the open economy reforms of the late 1970s has been defunding free education, leading to the slow implosion of the education system. In fact, particularly over the last decade, there has been an insidious project of engineering the failure of state education, in order to create the environment for commercialising education. Privatisation, including fee-levying institutions, are now making education a cash earner – even as students become indebted – and a privilege of the wealthy. In this column, I sketch the ideological underpinnings of education that have to be debated and struggled for, as education, like other social pillars, are confronted with diverging paths ahead.

President Anura Kumara Dissanayake, at a progress review meeting with the Ministry of Education (among others) earlier in October, emphasised the need to reform the country’s education system to better respond to global needs. This is a reiteration of a longstanding policy commitment, reflecting an equally longstanding oblivion to how this has failed, time and again, to work for us. The ‘global need’ is to integrate every society of the world to the global capitalist market, on the highly unequal terms that were crystallised over the course of Europe’s colonial adventures. In this constellation, developing societies like Sri Lanka are but frontiers of global capitalism, expected to contribute raw material, cheap labour, and sinks for dumping industrial and agricultural waste (including low quality consumer goods that don’t meet the standards expected by high protectionist markets like that of the EU).

With government change and cautious hope in the air, I thought I would allow myself to dream, to hope for a different world, in the way we view education. First, however, I begin with some hard questions about practicalities that are vital to the welfare of our students and teachers and to the functioning of the educational system as a whole: why is it that food insecurities among students remain unaddressed in the midst of this crisis? Why was reintroducing the school midday meal programme delayed so long? Where are the initiatives to curtail rising self-harm among students?

These are new times indeed. The country is in a celebratory mood. We have a brand new President, and a brand new Prime Minister, who would both enjoy an anticipated majority in Parliament – a government that has infused the people with much hope. Though we have not seen a decisive victory for the new President, the country has woken up to the remarkable change the Presidential election has ushered. The times are also critical. This is the first election after the protests of 2022 – the Aragalaya-Porattam-Struggle movement. Since independence we have seen a see-sawing between two traditional parties, the UNP and the SLFP and their offshoots, coalitions, etc. In Dissanayake, we have a completely new face, a new class of face, a new ethos of politics in the promise that corruption will be eliminated from the practice of governance.

Reading the manifestos of presidential candidates in the run-up to the elections, many search for hope for the future. Studying the content in the manifestos on higher education, I soon realised that they engage little with the ‘real’ subjects that occupy my thoughts, for instance, the everyday challenges of those working in the Sri Lankan university system. These include the endless responsibilities of an academic, the desire to engage in impactful research amidst pressures of having to ‘produce’ and ‘publish’, balancing excessive administrative loads with teaching and research, addressing numerous issues of students, coping with everyday interactions of academic, non-academic staff, administrators, and striving to co-create a meaningful learning experience.

I recently had the opportunity to read Sari Andapu Pirimi (‘Men Draped in Sarees’) by Vishnu Vasu, a powerful narrative that sheds light on the lived experiences of the LGBTQ+ community in Sri Lanka. Through personal stories of discrimination, within families, in society, and by the country’s legal framework, the book offers a heart-rending look into the systemic marginalization faced by individuals who do not conform to the country’s dominant heteronormative norms.