A volcano about to erupt. There is no better description for Sri Lanka’s higher education system. You may not feel the heat when walking along Reid Avenue or Galaha Road. The environment looks calm. Students move around as groups or couples. They appear studious and serious. On the face of it, everything looks fine. Underneath, the discontent is simmering. Many students are disillusioned about the system. That itself creates an ideal breeding ground for political opportunism. If you are old enough, it is deja-vu. We have experienced this before in the 1988-89 youth insurrection.
What will trigger another unfortunate episode in our history? This is a difficult question to answer. The response depends on where you stand. To understand the situation fully we should see the historical development of Sri Lanka’s university system. What we see as problems today have been inherent characteristics for a long period.
The origins of the modern university system in Sri Lanka dates back to 1921. The Ceylon University College was established at the former premises of Royal College. It was affiliated to the University of London. The Ceylon Medical School was established in 1870. It was followed by the Colombo Law College (1875), School of Agriculture (1884) and the Government Technical College (1893).
The initial goal of these institutions was identical: building necessary capacity for government service (except perhaps in the case of Law College). So the colonial government decided not to levy fees for education. It made sense. If the sole beneficiary were government, why bill? Little did the administrators know they were creating a precedent that might be repeatedly abused later.
[pullquote]The lack of choice forced a large number of arts graduates to follow courses that made them more unemployable. Graduate unemployment was a prominent fact. According to the Consumer Finance and Socio-Economic Survey 2004 by the Central Bank of Sri Lanka, unemployment was six times higher among graduates than those who had only primary education[/pullquote]
The University of Ceylon was established in 1942. It was to be unitary, residential and autonomous. It was located in Colombo for several years. A second campus was built in Peradeniya later. Then in 1972, it became the University of Sri Lanka resulting in a more centralized administration and direct government control. In 1978, government decided to scratch the model to create separate universities. Still, direct control and centralized administration continued. The University Grants Commission provided funds for their operation.
Sri Lanka initially had only two fee-levying universities. They too catered for a limited section of the population. Hence their impact was limited. The practice of non-fee levying education (perhaps incorrectly termed ‘free education’) was so prevalent that it wastaken for granted. Higher education, instead of a privilege, was considered a right. The bill for the ‘free-lunch’ was to be settled by the tax payers.
For a long time, the state decided the number of graduates to be produced, purely based on budgetary allocations possible. That deprived university education for many. Outdoing qualifying level was no guarantee for university entrance. Even three ‘A’ passes or 95% in qualifying examination were not good enough in extreme cases.
The dreams of university entrance of millions of students were carted off, more often than not with a career of choice. An aspirant engineer, who lost the third opportunity to enter one of the three engineering faculties, had little choice. She would have to either change her career goals or head to a foreign university, if that’s affordable.
The flaws of the state only university model were wider. Lack of competition eradicated incentives to produce quality graduates. Libraries with outdated books, computers, outdated software and lecturers with outdated knowledge hardly fostered a rigourous academic environment.
Lack of choice forced a large number of arts graduates to follow courses that made them more unemployable. Graduate unemployment was a prominent fact. According to the Consumer Finance and Socio-Economic Survey 2004 by the Central Bank of Sri Lanka, unemployment was six times higher among graduates than among those who had only primary education. One out of every eight local graduates was unemployed.
When the state finally absorbed their rejected produce, the market price for the first batch was as low as Rs6,000 per month – what an Office Assistant then earned in the private sector. This has changed since then, but not sufficiently. The state absorbs many graduates because they have no place in the private sector, not because a genuine need exists.
Recent introduction of fee-levying universities has been both a solution and a problem. Solution: because it provides a relatively low cost path for thousands who could not gain a university entrance otherwise. (In 2014, out of the 143,740 eligible students only 25,200 or 17.5% gained a seat.) An essential element in the development process, the non-state universities produce the graduates to run the private sector. They predominantly power industries like the software and IT enabled services. The economy would have just collapsed without that HR input.
That rocks the boat on the other side. Non-state university graduates, better equipped to meet the job market requirements, have already created a serious competition for their state university counterparts. Most visible among medics, the fear now transpires to other sectors as well. This is the real reason behind most students’ demonstrations we witness.
[pullquote]Non-state university education will stay. That cannot and will not be changed for the comfort of state students. The authorities, on the other hand, should be more sensitive to students’ needs. The reforms should aim for long-term transformations that address market needs. They will not work unless the two parties develop mutual trust. I am not sure if this is too much to expect in the present circumstances[/pullquote]
The state university undergraduates now seem to think the problems they encounter are the results of ‘privatization of the university system’, as they call it. Hardly. State universities lack resources purely because the intakes were escalated on ad hoc basis. The resources were not improved proportionately. Little effort was made to expand hostel facilities. Maintenance of classrooms, labs, computer facilities etc., was ignored because funding was inadequate. New universities (and new faculties in existing universities) were introduced for political gain, despite severe shortages of resources, including faculty. The students, unfortunately, compare their conditions with those at non-state universities. Unless the state dramatically increases funding – which is unlikely – it won’t be able to match the facilities available at institutions offering fee-levying courses.
Our state university system is also politically vulnerable. With the centralized administration, the Ministry of Higher Education, not university heads, takes critical policy and sometimes even administrative decisions. Prima facie, this seems an advantage but it isn’t. It is the opposite. The ministry is subject to public influence. Thus the urge is to take more popular decisions instead of right decisions; or apply short-term solutions where the system calls for long term ones. This is the worst part of our story. It lets the problems grow within.
Just like in case of any complex problem, the solutions are not straightforward or simple. Both sides need to change their attitudes. The students should focus more on their studies instead of worrying about processes beyond their control. Non-state university education will stay. That cannot and will not be changed for the comfort of state students. The authorities, on the other hand, should be more sensitive to students’ needs. The reforms should aim for long-term transformations that address market needs. They will not work unless the two parties develop mutual trust. I am not sure if this is too much to expect in the present circumstances.