• Free education is one of Sri Lanka’s proudest achievements. 

Since the mid-20th century, when the gates of higher learning opened to all regardless of wealth or class, universities have stood as symbols of fairness and mobility. Each year, young Sri Lankans walk into lecture halls with pens ready, dreams alive, and families cheering them on. To parents, lecturers, and leaders, every new graduate is a symbol of progress and pride. 

Beneath the applause, however, lies a harder question: are we preparing our youth for the jobs that exist, or producing more graduates than the economy can absorb? It is not just an academic puzzle. It cuts to the heart of our future, youth aspirations, and even social stability.

Mismatched and misaligned

Recent figures from the Department of Census and Statistics (2024) put youth unemployment at 22.3%, with nearly 30% of young females out of work, compared to 16% of young males in the same age group. 

For some, these numbers reveal a stagnant economy that fails to create jobs. For others, the fault lies in universities producing degree-holders with little connection to the realities of the labour market.

Every year, campuses overflow with students of arts, commerce, and general science. These fields have undeniable intellectual value, but the economy cannot absorb so many. Meanwhile, hospitals call for doctors, the IT sector cries out for coders, and agriculture seeks technologists. Employers often lament that graduates arrive armed with theory but lacking communication skills, digital literacy, teamwork, or problem-solving ability. 

The mismatch means that even when jobs exist, employers hesitate to hire. Career guidance, where it exists, is often underfunded and symbolic, leaving students to choose their futures on hearsay rather than hard evidence. The result? Underemployment, migration, and frustration. Sri Lanka invests heavily in its youth, only to watch many of them leave, not because they want to, but because they must.

However, there is another side to the debate. Universities are not simply factories for jobs. Their mission is also to nurture critical thinking, broaden cultural horizons, and produce informed citizens. To measure them solely by job placement risks narrowing their purpose. 

Labour markets are fickle: what looks saturated today may be vital tomorrow. Should we sideline disciplines like literature or history just because they don’t promise immediate job returns? 

Such short-term thinking risks weakening the intellectual, cultural, and critical thinking foundations that drive innovation and social cohesion. Yet the challenge is deeper: when university programmes are misaligned with local job opportunities, talented graduates are pushed abroad, creating the familiar ‘brain drain.’ 

A way forward

So where do we go from here? The way forward may be to stop choosing between ‘education for knowledge’ and ‘education for jobs,’ and instead build a system that does both.

One proposal is a job market compass, a national framework linking universities, industries, and government. Such a system could forecast labour demand, adjust student intakes, publish graduate employability data, and provide serious career counselling from day one. 

Beyond that, Sri Lanka could adopt a new set of indicators that move us past simply counting degrees. Imagine a public dashboard where every programme is measured not only by numbers admitted or graduated, but by how well its graduates are placed in society.

That dashboard could track a graduate placement quotient – how many actually find jobs in their field; a creativity quotient – how much innovation and problem-solving a programme fosters; an industry linkage score – the strength of its ties to workplaces; and a lifelong learning pathway – how easily skills can be upgraded. 

In this vision, parents could make informed choices, students could balance passion with pragmatism, and universities would have reason to innovate rather than repeat old formulas.

The triangle of talent

This model also ties to what I call the ‘triangle of talent.’ Picture a triangle with universities, industry, and government at its three corners, and the student at the centre. This triangle of talent only achieves its potential when all corners actively engage in educating and creating awareness among each other and the students they serve. 

Universities must design responsive curricula grounded in real-world skills and future labour market needs, while also guiding students to understand career pathways and national priorities. Industry has a dual role: providing insights into evolving skill demands and offering internships, mentorship, and experiential learning that make abstract knowledge tangible. Government must ensure coherent policy, provide reliable labour and skills data, and foster platforms where universities and industry can collaborate effectively. 

When all three corners understand their interdependent roles and communicate consistently, students gain clarity, relevance, and opportunity at the centre of the triangle. Success can be measured through indicators such as graduate employment alignment with their fields, internship participation rates, skill competency assessments, and ultimately, the retention or productive engagement of young talent within Sri Lanka. 

By making awareness, alignment, and accountability central to this model, the triangle of talent transforms from a theoretical framework into a practical roadmap for national human capital development.

A balancing act

Of course, even the best-designed education-employment link cannot stand alone. The economy itself must generate opportunities. Investment, innovation, and entrepreneurship are essential to absorb the rising tide of educated youth. 

At the same time, Sri Lanka must shed its stigma around vocational training. Not every young person needs a BA or BSc; technical fields like logistics, renewable energy, healthcare, and IT can provide respected, fast-entry careers, if only society values them equally. And once jobs exist, retaining graduates means offering fair pay, scholarships, and clear pathways for growth, not forcing them to seek dignity and opportunity elsewhere.

In the end, this is not a battle between books and jobs, or between knowledge and skills. It is a balancing act. A system detached from the labour market produces disillusioned graduates. A system reduced to filling vacancies risks stripping universities of their deeper mission. 

The answer lies somewhere in between, where young people can dream broadly but also step into a society ready to use their talents. For Sri Lanka, the true measure isn’t how many degrees we confer or diplomas we issue; it’s whether graduates have a clear direction. Every young person without a path represents a lost opportunity not just for themselves, but for their families and the nation.

We must keep asking ourselves: are we guiding our young blood, or letting it slip away – drop by drop, flight by flight? 

Every graduate who drifts without direction represents not just a personal lost opportunity, but a gap in the nation’s future. The future of Sri Lanka depends on whether we act decisively to anchor their talent at home, through education that is relevant, mentorship that is intentional, and policies that are coherent and forward-looking. 

When universities, industry, and government align, we transform potential loss into national strength, turning each young mind into a driver of innovation, growth, and resilience. The challenge is urgent, but the opportunity is enormous: a generation guided well can redefine the nation’s destiny, ensuring that Sri Lanka does not merely produce graduates, but nurtures leaders, creators, and changemakers.

(The writer is an independent researcher)

(The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect the official position of this publication)