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As schools go, St Thomas’s College Mt Lavinia has, since its inception in 1851, had a disproportionate influence on the affairs of Sri Lanka. In ways both good and bad, it created the modern incarnation of this country. After all, four of our first five prime ministers were Thomians (‘Thomian’, by the way, is a Latin diminutive of Thomas, like Tom in English).
The passage of almost 175 years more than justifies a book on the history of the school. Most such histories, however, tell the story of the school through the lives of visionary founders, eminent principals, and illustrious past pupils. That’s if the author is someone other than Richard Simon. His ‘Thomia’ is a magisterial account of the social and political evolution of Sri Lanka from the early British period to the turn of the 21 st century. Into this is woven the story of the school, from its modest beginnings in Mutwal to the national institution it has become today.
Such a narrative in the hands of a competent historian could be guaranteed to produce a compelling read. In the hands of the master storyteller that Simon is, however, it results in a masterpiece. Regardless of which school you attended, if you’re at all curious to know how Sri Lanka came to be what it is, why we turned one way or the other at each of those fateful bifurcations of history, this is the book for you. Having read the first volume prior to publication, I now find that I simply cannot put down the second, save for my aching arms: the thing weighs almost five kg, something you need to bear in mind if planning to ferry copies to friends overseas.
Younger readers brought up on rose-tinted history textbooks that venerate the nation’s founding fathers might find Simon excessively unforgiving of their sins. After all, post-Independent Ceylon was born with a silver spoon in its mouth. And then, in just one decade, those venerated founding fathers laid waste to it all. The ‘hartal’ of 1953 sent a clear message to future governments that Ceylonese were determined to live beyond their means: that there is, after all, such a thing as a free lunch. Then came the anti-Tamil pogrom of 1958, followed by Bandaranaike’s assassination the following year. That first disastrous decade also saw, in 1956, Sinhala being entrenched by law as the sole official language, effectively marginalizing Tamil and undermining English, the lingua franca. Add to that the economic malaise that plagued this country since Independence, caused entirely by political bungling, and the scene for the consequent tragedy is set.
The air of nostalgic despair hidden beneath the acerbic wit that enlivens the book’s pages perhaps reflects the fact that Simon himself attended St Thomas’s at the worst of times. He warmed the benches of the Lower Fourth during the winter of the nation’s discontent. In 1966, Dudley Senanayake had decreed that we be the only country in the world to shun the seven-day week and adopt the lunar calendar instead. Well, how did that go? One consequence was, as Simon points out, Sri Lanka exported less in 1968 than in 1958. To hasten the sinking of the ship, also in 1968, Senanayake abolished English as a language of instruction in schools across the country.
Then came Sirimavo, ushering in an era of destitution, with everything from rice to cloth being rationed, businesses nationalized, homes confiscated, personal assets capriciously seized, and ceilings placed on incomes and dividends. The ‘standardization’ of GCE Advanced Level marks in 1971, whereby to enter university Tamil students were required to score around 10 percent more than their Sinhalese counterparts, signalled the first shots of the civil war to come. The first JVP insurgency saw the derailment of a generation and the slaughter of thousands of youths. The victims included KDK Perera, a Thomian schoolboy who disappeared en route to his parents’ home in Diyatalawa when schools were closed following the imposition of emergency rule. The liquidation of Richard de Zoysa (to whom Simon dedicates ‘Thomia’), this time by the UNP, would come two decades later. So bad did things become by 1973 that the lawn of the school’s revered quadrangle had to be uprooted and replaced with manioc to feed the boys.
It was only in the fourth post-Independence decade that the renaissance finally began. Today, St Thomas’s is without a doubt the jewel in Sri Lanka’s educational crown. Its manicured lawns, curtained dormitories and sparkling toilets give no hint of privations past. The students too, have a spring in their step. They ooze confidence: no limp handshakes, no averting their gaze when they chance upon a stranger. Basking in a rare cricketing win against a school three times their size, this week saw them standing taller still.
To some, all this might smack of privilege. That, it is anything but. As Simon consistently emphasizes, though perhaps not in these words, the values the school seeks to inculcate in its pupils are thrift, modesty and egalitarianism. No-one cares who your father is, or how you travel to school. As important is the fact that despite being part of the Church of Ceylon establishment, the school is remarkably secular, with Tamils, Moors, Burghers, Malays and Sinhalese mixing effortlessly with one another. This ‘colour-blindness’ is something that distinguishes even adult Thomians. If SWRD had to fake being a Sinhala Buddhist supremacist bigot to win votes, he did that on his own time.
In ‘Thomia’, Simon presents a masterly analysis of Sri Lanka through the colonial and postcolonial periods: colonialism versus nationalism, Christianity versus Buddhism, Sinhalese versus Tamil. The text is livened by his sometimes-sardonic wit, highlighting the political blunders that put us in our present predicament. His text is impressively well-researched, citing hundreds of references to substantiate its claims. To write a history of the school would have been easy: after all, there’s a wealth of documentation. But to have set it into the context of Sri Lanka as it evolved through almost two centuries, to write the biographies of luminaries long dead, is a monumental task. And it is a task that, in this labour of love, the author has executed to perfection.
Simon tells the story of STC and Sri Lanka without ever seeking to glorify the school’s alumni. After all, those first five Thomian prime ministers were abject failures (my words, not his). Born into privilege and nurtured in the arts of liberal-democratic governance since 1932 by the British, they seemed to have learned nothing. As soon as they got their hands on power, their single-minded quest was for the lowest common denominator.
’s heft is commensurate with its vast scope. The book’s two volumes run to almost 1,000 pages. There are no illustrations to clutter the text, no photos of neatly-serried schoolboys in blue shorts, no portraits of famous alumni. Thomia is a monumental contribution to the historiography of Sri Lanka. Every Thomian worth his salt should buy a copy, and the rest should make arrangements to purloin one. This is not a book to read on the bus. This is a book that will help you, regardless of where you were schooled, to understand how Sri Lanka came to be what it is today.
Refreshingly, Simon’s command of English is excellent, as is his narrative style. I cannot think of a more readable Sri Lankan historical text, notwithstanding the high bar set by the likes of KM de Silva, Nira Wickramasinghe and Kumari Jayawardena. Sticklers for tradition might start from their seats at his addition of a possessive ‘s’ to the school’s name: St Thomas’s, rather than the standard St Thomas’. My only (minor) grievance is that the indexes omit many names mentioned in the text. Then again, to do justice to a text so rich in material, a comprehensive index might add another 50 pages to a book that is already a veritable thonker.
is not a book written just for Thomians: it is a book for everyone who thinks seriously about what it means to be Sri Lankan. If you are numbered among that vanishingly rare community of Thomians who, educated largely in absentia, find themselves unable to read, you ought to buy one for the same reason people buy Patek Philippe watches: You never actually own your copy. You merely look after it for the next generation.
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The government’s determination to tackle corruption, drug trafficking and organised crime is one of the most important challenges it has taken upon itself. The scale of the problem is evident from recent seizures of drugs at sea and at the airport, which indicate the enormous dimensions of the illicit drug trade. The street value of some consignments has reportedly approached staggering sums, running into hundreds of millions of dollars. The financial resources available to those involved in this trade must be immense. Their ability to corrupt individuals and institutions cannot be underestimated. The revelations of the involvement of persons connected with previous governments, their families and even members of the security forces in the drug trade are particularly disturbing. This is not simply a problem of law enforcement. It is a threat to the integrity of the State itself. The government appears to be approaching this challenge more systematically and seriously than any government in the past.
In two public engagements this past week, the President explained the government’s position. The first was a gathering of Buddhist monks and members of other religious communities, at Temple Trees to mark the first anniversary of Ratama Ekata, the national anti-drug programme. The purpose was to brief religious leaders on progress and enlist their support in carrying the message to communities throughout the country. The second was a trade union conference in Colombo, where the President responded to concerns about the proposed anti-terrorism and anti-crime legislation. At both, the President drew a distinction between two groups opposing the proposed laws. One consisted of criminal groups and those who give them patronage and protection. The other consisted of civil society organisations and human rights groups raising concerns from the perspective of democracy, fundamental rights and the rule of law. The President said the government was prepared to listen to this second group and discuss the legislation with them, and that these were issues on which discussion and consensus needed to be obtained.
The Protection of the State from Terrorism Bill (PSTB) would replace the Prevention of Terrorism Act (PTA) of 1979, while the Prevention of Organised Crime Bill (POC Bill) would give the authorities new powers against organised crime. President Anura Kumara Dissanayake has personally taken up the task of answering criticism from opposition parties, civil society and international human rights organisations. This shows that the two bills form central pillars of the government’s programme to restore the integrity of the State. However, concerns expressed regarding these two draft laws are substantial. In a 31-page communication made public this week, five United Nations human rights mandates warned that the POC Bill could increase the risk of torture and arbitrary detention. They pointed to police custody of 72 hours before a Magistrate’s review and detention for up to a year in police stations on ministerial authorisation. They also cited the admissibility of confessions to senior police officers, police access to phone records without court approval, surveillance of encrypted communications, and the possibility that trade unionists and protesters could fall within the law.
The President’s offer to reduce the 72-hour period to 48 hours, made in the course of a public speech, is a welcome sign of flexibility. The better test is whether the final text reaches the 24-hour norm of ordinary criminal procedure, or whether detention beyond it requires judicial approval. Sri Lanka’s experience under the PTA shows why this matters. Laws meant for exceptional threats can acquire a much wider application in practice. Bitter experience over nearly four decades has shown that people can spend years in detention without being charged, only eventually to be released without any charges being brought against them. The years they lose in detention can never be returned. They may lose the best and most productive years of their lives, their livelihoods and family relationships, without ever being found guilty of an offence. No subsequent release can compensate them for such a loss. This is precisely the kind of injustice that laws must be designed to prevent, rather than create the conditions in which it can occur.
There is a fundamental principle at stake. The liberty of individuals cannot be entrusted to the unfettered discretion of public officials or security forces. Whenever the State seeks to deprive a person of liberty, the judiciary must have an effective and decisive role. This is not a question of showing leniency towards those suspected of serious crimes. It is recognition that the power to arrest, detain and restrict the liberty of individuals is among the most important powers exercised by the State, and therefore requires the strongest safeguards. Law enforcement authorities must have the powers necessary to investigate and prosecute crime, but they cannot be the sole judges of how long a person may be deprived of liberty. That responsibility must remain firmly anchored in an independent judiciary. The State has a duty to protect society from criminals, but it also has an equally important duty to protect the innocent from the misuse of State power. The credibility of its efforts to combat crime depends on its ability to do both.
The role of the courts therefore needs to be strengthened in both bills. Decisions concerning prolonged detention, access to legal representation, the admissibility of confessions and restrictions on personal liberty should be subject to meaningful judicial scrutiny. The courts must have the authority to examine the necessity and proportionality of measures taken by the police and executive authorities, rather than merely endorse decisions already made by them. The breadth of certain definitions also raises questions about whether individuals could be brought within the ambit of the law on the basis of their associations or other characteristics rather than evidence of criminal conduct. A system in which members of the security establishment can exercise extensive powers while judicial officers have limited ability to intervene would weaken the constitutional safeguards that protect all citizens.
The President’s willingness to engage with civil society and human rights critics is a positive indicator. So is his assurance that the bills will not be rushed through Parliament, but considered only after comprehensive discussion and wider consensus. He has directed the Minister of Justice to engage with stakeholders. The fact that the Supreme Court is considering the PSTB, and that both bills have been challenged on constitutional grounds, provides another important avenue for scrutiny. The government has indicated that it will consider the Court’s determination and proposals for amendment. These developments offer a chance to improve the legislation rather than turn the debate into a confrontation between the government and its critics. The test of the government’s commitment to good governance will be whether it incorporates reasonable criticism into the final laws, including changes to provisions it originally thought necessary.
An aspect of good governance is to bring about changes that will stand the test of time. The government needs to demonstrate that it has effective mechanisms for ensuring that future legislation is subjected to independent scrutiny, meaningful consultation with the Bar Association, trade unions, media bodies, civil society and opposition parties, and rigorous human rights assessment before it reaches Parliament. The credibility of a government is measured not only by its determination to combat crime or its willingness to listen to criticism, but also by the care with which it exercises its legislative powers. Legislation should be built on sound legal foundations, informed public consultation and democratic consensus, rather than corrected only after its weaknesses have become matters of public controversy. Consensus may take longer to build, but the resulting changes are more likely to be accepted, respected and sustained. The challenge is not simply to enact laws that are strong enough to confront organised crime today, but to establish laws and institutions that will protect society and individual liberty under governments of the future.
I honestly thought our legendary singer / entertainer, Sohan Weerasinghe, was playing around with AI and projecting a new image of himself on social media, especially on Facebook.
Although in his… (that’s a secret where his age is concerned) what was seen on social media was a ‘forties look Sohan.’
Believe me, in reality Sohan has given himself a new look and he quite rightly says as long as he is on stage he believes he should look like a star.
To achieve his new, trendy look, Sohan says he went on a diet, adding that sugar was the culprit.
“Four months of serious dieting, 30 minutes of daily walking, low salt diet, and absolutely no sugar, has given me this new look. And walking has got to be brisk – a speed where you can talk but not sing!”
The forties look star is still very much top of the pops in the entertainment scene.
The big event, before the year is out, is ‘Dancing Through The Decades,’ where the legendary artiste will usher in 2027, along with Corrine, Rukshan, Annesley and Damian, and the band AROH.
A true legend of Sri Lankan music, Sohan has won the hearts of all music lovers, here and abroad.
By profession, he is a lawyer! He practiced law for a short while and then decided music would be his full-time career — what a brave, legendary jump!
When he stepped into The X-Periments scene, he made it a household name as Sohan & The X’Periments.
Sohan belongs to that rare breed who made music a living narrative of culture and heritage, taking Sri Lankan music from modest halls to grand stages in Oman, Australia, Europe, Toronto and beyond.
Versatile, with a captivating voice and magnetic stage presence, and with performances all over the world, Sohan continues to ride the crest of the wave.
And, of course, what is Sohan without his lady fans! From his early days to now, the ladies absolutely adore his presence on stage — his smooth voice, his charming smile, his gentlemanly charisma, and that twinkle in his eye when he sings a love ballad!
He has sung with almost all the leading ladies of Sri Lanka’s music industry, and the audience, especially the ladies, just swoon!
That’s the Sohan magic — a true heartthrob entertainer! A legend, forever young!
The entertainment scene, in Dubai, is getting back to normal, they say, with a calendar of concerts, festivals and family events, and with the SEVEN NOTES Live Band, made up of Sri Lankans who work by day (doing full-time jobs in Dubai), and, at night, producing high quality music on stage.
Yes, they do have a busy itinerary and will be seen in action at Mathaka Yathra, Christmas Baila Fiesta, Mathakayata Mage, and Sudu Araliya Mala over the next few weeks.
In the meanwhile, Niluk Uswaththa, of SEVEN NOTES fame, is working on some originals.
He says he has done two original and is planning to release another original soon.
The two originals are ‘Malak Se Oba,’ with Niluk handling the lyrics, music, and vocals, and ‘Mathakada.’
The lyrics for ‘Mathakada’ were penned by Buddhika Athapaththu, while Niluk did the music and vocals.
However, one is only hoping that the current Middle East crisis wouldn’t suddenly escalate and change the setup in Dubai.
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