Development at the cost of Humanity: when Life was Simple, and Humanity was intact

There was a time — not too long ago — when life was rooted in villages, families, faith, and community. People lived modestly, but with dignity. Homes were humble, yet filled with warmth. Families shared meals, elders were cared for, and children played under open skies, free from fear.

 

Evenings were filled with shared laughter, storytelling around flickering lamps, the simple melodies of a traditional instrument, or the quiet comfort of family presence. Joy was found in connection, not consumption.

 

There was no jealousy, no backstabbing, no envy. People were never looked down upon for who they were, or what they did. There were no high walls, no padlocked gates, no surveillance cameras. Doors were often left open — not because people were careless, but because they trusted one another.

 

Children walked to school alone, played until sunset, and returned home safely. They climbed trees, played in the mud, chased birds, and watched clouds. They were part of nature, not detached from it. They lived in harmony with the natural world. Trees were not just wood — they were shade-givers, fruit-bearers, and part of the family yard. Rivers were revered, not polluted. Animals were not pests or property, but companions and co-dwellers. Cows were respected, stray dogs were fed, birds nested freely in rooftops. No one needed to be taught environmentalism — it was a way of life. People took only what they needed, and left the rest — for others, and for nature.

 

No one worried about abduction, assault, or trafficking — nor felt the pressure to constantly acquire, upgrade, or keep pace with ever-changing material ideals.

 

Fulfillment was found in sufficiency, in the simple bounty of the land and the warmth of human connection, not in the relentless pursuit of material accumulation.

 

There were no lawyers needed for dispute – Conflicts were resolved by elders through dialogue and wisdom — not anger and litigation. Solutions were win-win, and no one walked away bitter.

 

There was no need for CCTV to protect one’s belongings, and very few prisons to hold broken men — because society was built on trust, honor, and mutual responsibility.

 

There were no banks or ATMs. No hospitals filled with strangers or machines. Instead, people relied on the native doctor— who, by feeling the pulse on the wrist, could diagnose illnesses even before modern tests like CT scans existed. Medicines came from herbs, nature’s pharmacy, tended with care and knowledge passed down generations.

 

Knowledge was passed orally from elders to youth. Storytelling, apprenticeships, and shared wisdom formed the backbone of education — practical, moral, and deeply connected to everyday life.

Money was scarce, and bartering was common — people exchanged goods, labor, and favors in trusted community circles. Most earned their living through farming, fishing, weaving, or craftwork.

 

Work was steady but sustainable, rooted in respect for the land and community, without exploitation or greed. Food was grown in their own plots or caught from unpolluted waters – fresh, wholesome, and shared freely. Meals were communal events, where the day’s harvest was celebrated, and no one went hungry.

 

There was no gambling, no pawning of belongings, no shadowy mafias, no money laundering or financial crimes to fear. Life was free from the complexities and vices that came with large-scale money economies.

 

The village temple, mosque, church, or kovil was not just a place of worship — it was the moral compass of the community. Faith was not a performance; it was quietly lived — through restraint, kindness, and integrity.

 

There were no placards demanding rights, no angry protests on the streets — because people understood their duties first. When duties were honored — to parents, to children, to community — there was no need to shout for rights.

What one gave, another received — in balance.

Neighbors weren’t strangers.

 

Everyone knew everyone. A child belonged not just to one family, but to the entire village. Children were raised collectively, embraced by the love and guidance of many, not just their parents. There was a profound sense of belonging, a knowing that one was woven inextricably into the fabric of the land and its people, their identity rooted in generations of shared soil and sky.

 

If someone fell ill, others came with meals and medicine. If a funeral took place, the whole community grieved. Survival was shared. Struggles were communal. Success was humble. Life’s slower pace fostered peace of mind and strong social bonds. Without the pressures of endless competition or digital distractions, people were more connected to themselves, their neighbors, and the natural world.

 

Women played a central role in nurturing family and community — not through demands for rights, but through daily acts of care, wisdom, and strength. There was no competition between males or females and definitely no people questioning their sex or gender!

 

There was no ceaseless stream of news, no constant demand for attention from invisible networks, no pervasive advertising whispering desires. Minds were free to wander, to observe, to dream, and to simply be present.

 

Life unfolded with the rhythms of the sun and seasons, dictated by natural cycles, not artificial deadlines. Work began with the dawn, rested in the heat of the day, and concluded as dusk settled, allowing time for reflection and genuine connection.

 

That world may not have been rich in numbers or machines — but it was rich in values.

 

And then… It changed.

The Arrival of Colonialism — The First Blow to Humanity

 

The real rupture in simple village life began not with development — but with invasion.

 

For over 500 years, Sri Lanka and much of the Global South endured wave after wave of colonial rule — by the Portuguese, Dutch, British, French, and others — who came not to settle peacefully, but to conquer, convert, extract, and control.

 

Villages that once lived in rhythm with the land were turned into territories of exploitation. The communal ownership of fields, forests, and water was upended by foreign-imposed land deeds, taxes, and private property laws.

 

Traditional livelihoods were criminalized, local industries crushed, and native medicine dismissed as superstition.

 

Spiritual life too was targeted. Temples and kovils were desecrated or abandoned, their custodians stripped of authority. Colonial missionaries rewrote the spiritual map — replacing millennia of inherited values with imported dogma and divisions.

 

Language was replaced, names were anglicized, and the sacred was redefined to serve a new foreign hierarchy.

 

The colonial project brought with it:

• Forced conversions and cultural erasure
• The plundering of forests, spices, gems, and labor
• Introduction of cash crops and plantation slavery
• Redefining caste and kin-based responsibilities
• The criminalization of local justice and healing systems
• A foreign legal and education system designed to divide, not elevate

 

Colonial rule taught communities to mistrust their roots and to aspire toward foreign ideals. The native was shamed into mimicry. The village teacher became less valued than the colonial clerk.

 

Colonial cities grew by draining villages — drawing in men as cheap labor and women as domestic servants, leaving families broken and communities hollow. The human cost was invisible behind the profits of tea, rubber, cinnamon, and pearls — all shipped away.

 

The colonizer came with flags and crosses, maps and guns — and left behind borders, prisons, poverty, and trauma.

 

This was the beginning of displacement.

Not just from land — but from identity, dignity, and self-sufficiency.

And long after flags were lowered and empires collapsed, their systems remained — repackaged as “modernization,” “progress,” and “development.”

Colonials handed their role to local agents who had been molded to continue their agenda.

Development Arrived — But Humanity Declined

 

When colonial flags came down, the damage was already done. Villages were fragmented. Indigenous systems were dismantled. Faith and identity were distorted.

 

Then came the next wave — industrialization and “development” — which did not heal the wound. It widened it.

 

Governments, independent only in name, adopted the very models the colonizers left behind. Urbanization was hailed as progress. GDP became the measure of success. Concrete replaced clay. Machines replaced hands. Quantity replaced quality. Speed replaced spirit.

 

Villagers were herded into cities in search of jobs — not freedom, but survival. Fields were abandoned for factories. Thatched roofs were traded for tin shanties. Family lands were mortgaged for quick loans. And in the shadows of rising skylines, slums mushroomed.

 

The price of development was displacement — not just of homes, but of hearts.

 

In these overburdened cities:

• Crime soared — theft, assault, kidnapping, trafficking.
• Violence spread — gangs replaced guardians, weapons replaced wisdom.
• Prostitution rose — poverty pushed women and even children into exploitation.
• Child labor became normal — tiny hands carried bricks instead of books.
• Mental illness grew — but few noticed, fewer cared.

 

Elders, once revered, were left alone or sent to institutions. Parents worked double shifts, while children were raised by screens and strangers. Marriages became transactional. Friendships became digital. Communities became anonymous.

 

Morality no longer came from the temple, the church, or the family — but from trends, ads, and algorithms.

 

Technology promised connection — but delivered distraction. Phones replaced face-to-face conversations. Likes replaced love. Privacy disappeared, even in one’s own home.

 

And while material goods became abundant, emotional poverty deepened.

People began to live next to each other — but not with each other. They began to earn more — but feel less. To move faster — but care less. To know more — but understand nothing.

 

It was a world of progress — but not peace.

Of knowledge — but not wisdom.

Of wealth — but not values.

Neocolonialism — The Empire without a Flag

 

When colonial empires formally withdrew, the flags changed — but the chains remained. The end of European rule did not restore people’s sovereignty.

Instead, power passed silently into the hands of global financial institutions, international agencies, and local elites groomed to obey foreign agendas.

 

Colonialism evolved into neocolonialism — a more sophisticated and invisible system of control.

 

Where muskets and missionaries once ruled, debt, trade, and diplomacy took over. Where foreign governors once dictated terms, UN bodies, IMF/World Bank officials, and corporate boards now issue commands — with local politicians and media as their agents.

 

From World Wars to World Order

 

The two World Wars, often portrayed as battles for democracy, were in reality the birth pains of a new global hierarchy.

• World War I redrew borders and buried empires — but introduced a system of global financial control.
• World War II devastated old powers — and crowned new ones, particularly the United States, as the global enforcer.

 

In the post-war world, institutions like the World Bank, IMF, UN, NATO, and WTO emerged not as neutral helpers — but as tools to enforce a Western-designed economic and political order.

 

Loans came with conditions. Aid came with strings. Debt became the new form of colonial taxation — never-ending, ever-deepening debt.

 

A new empire without a Flag

 

This empire had no borders — but it controlled them all. It dictated:

• What countries could grow and export
• Who could build dams, ports, or power plants
• What children would be taught in schools
• What laws must be changed to attract “investment”
• Who would lead — and who would be removed, assassinated, or sanctioned

 

Nations that resisted this new order were destabilized, overthrown, or invaded:

• Iraq, Libya, Syria, Venezuela, Iran — all bear the scars of resisting global hegemony
• Assassinations of leaders like Patrice Lumumba, Aung Sang, Salvador Allende, and Muammar Gaddafi were not coincidences — they were calculated removals of resistance

 

While bombs fell on cities, loans buried nations under mountains of debt.

 

Progress — for Whom?

 

The story of “development” was rewritten — no longer to serve people, but to serve corporate profits and foreign interests.

 

Villages were sacrificed for highways and hotels. Rivers were dammed for foreign energy exports. Farms were bought up by multinationals to grow export crops — while locals went hungry.

 

Local industries were shut down, called “uncompetitive,” while cheap imports flooded markets.

“Free trade” meant foreign goods got richer, and local producers went bankrupt. “Privatization” meant handing public resources to a few powerful hands — often foreign-owned.

“Economic reforms” meant cutting healthcare, education, and food subsidies — while paying billions in debt interest to global banks.

 

Under the new development model:

• Culture was commercialized
• Faith was politicized
• Family was fragmented
• Youth were alienated
• Nature was monetized
• Humanity was devalued

 

The dream of freedom became a nightmare of dependency. We were told we were progressing — but in truth, we were being programmed.

The War on History, Identity, and the Sacred

 

As global powers consolidated economic control, they turned to the next target — cultural sovereignty.

 

This new war was fought not with armies, but with narratives, media, education, and migration.

• History was rewritten, or erased altogether. National heroes were vilified. Indigenous achievements were ignored. Colonial crimes were downplayed or glorified.
• Mass migration was engineered — displacing millions, fragmenting traditional communities, and forcing “multiculturalism” as a virtue while ignoring its failures. Instead of celebrating local identities, people were told to become rootless “global citizens.”
• Sacred sites were seized, destroyed, or rebranded— temples turned to tourist traps, ancient lands converted into military bases or mining fields.
• Territories were claimed through international courts and bought through predatory debt.
• Conflicts were fueled by arming rebel groups, insurgents, and non-state actors — always under the guise of “freedom,” “human rights,” or “democracy.”

 

Education systems were globalized to alienate children from their culture.

Art and tradition were commercialized.

Language and literature were replaced with global pop culture.

Religion was either politicized or privatized.

A people disconnected from their history become easy to manipulate.

A nation without pride in its past will not fight for its future.

 

The attack was clear:

• If you erase the past, you erase identity.
• If you erase identity, you erase resistance.
• If you erase resistance, you rule without chains.

 

We are not merely being developed. We are being redefined.

And the question remains: Progress for whom? At what cost? And who decides?

 

 

The Great Disconnect — From Humanity to Artificial Intelligence

 

In the final phase of this transformation, humanity has entered the age of artificial intelligence — a world governed not by elders, but algorithms. Where once we turned to nature and community for guidance, we now look to machines, metrics, and screens.

 

AI promises efficiency, but at the cost of empathy. Algorithms predict our desires before we even know them — curating choices, filtering facts, and reshaping thought itself. Decisions once made with wisdom and heart are now made by data sets and corporate code.

 

Children are raised on screens rather than stories.

Identity is shaped by digital affirmation, not family or faith.

Relationships are filtered through apps, and emotions measured in likes, shares, and emojis.

 

The rise of AI has not just replaced human labor — it has begun to replace human judgment, human bonds, and even human purpose.

As machines grow smarter, societies grow more disconnected.

 

And with the digitization of education, healthcare, commerce, and even spirituality, the human touch is disappearing. What was once sacred — from a mother’s lullaby to the village healer’s touch — is now simulated, recorded, and monetized.

 

Surveillance has replaced trust. Predictions have replaced conversation. Automation has replaced vocation.

 

The human being — once at the center of community and creation — is being reduced to a data point in a vast, impersonal system.

 

In the name of progress, we have forgotten presence.

In pursuit of convenience, we have abandoned connection.

 

AI may solve equations, but it cannot feel loss, love, loyalty, or longing. It cannot raise a child with values. It cannot mourn with the grieving. It cannot laugh without reason or give without expectation.

 

This is the great disconnect — a world that seems smarter, but feels less human.

Reclaiming Humanity — The Path Forward

 

But this story need not end in despair. The tide can turn.

 

The path forward is not to reject technology outright — but to reclaim our humanity alongside it. It is not about going backward, but going inward — to recover what was stolen, suppressed, or forgotten.

 

A future worth living demands that we:

 

1. Revive Community

Rebuild the lost village — not just physically, but spiritually.

• Return to cooperative living, shared labor, and collective care.
• Make neighborhoods places of knowing, not anonymity.
• Restore communal responsibility: where children belong to everyone, and no elder is left behind.

 

2. Restore Faith and Moral Anchors

Not for the sake of religious dominance — but for moral clarity.

• Re-center duty over entitlement, restraint over indulgence.
• Let temples, churches, mosques, and kovils again be moral compasses — not performance halls.
• Reconnect the sacred with the everyday — where integrity is lived, not preached.

 

3. Rebuild Wisdom Chains

We must reconnect generations.

• Let elders pass down experience, stories, and ethics — not be discarded as obsolete.
• Let youth listen, learn, and evolve — not wander rootless in digital confusion.
• Restore apprenticeship, oral tradition, and mentorship as cornerstones of real education.

 

4. Reintegrate with Nature

This planet is not a resource — it is a relative.

• Return to living with the rhythms of the sun, the soil, and the seasons.
• Design homes and cities that breathe with nature, not against it.
• Let healing return to herbs, food return to gardens, and respect return to all life forms.

 

5. Realign Education

Shift from schooling to true learning.

• Teach values, character, and compassion — not just competition and compliance.
• Embed tradition with innovation, memory with skill, conscience with curiosity.
• Let education root identity, not erase it.

 

6. Reclaim the Family

The family is the first institution of civilization.

• Defend it from being diluted, dismantled, or commercialized.
• Celebrate the sacred bonds of motherhood, fatherhood, and kinship.
• Create economies and policies that support strong, stable, multigenerational families.

 

7. Redesign Economies

From GDP to GNH — Gross National Happiness.

• Shift from extractive to regenerative economics.
• Prioritize local production, fair trade, and meaningful work over speculation and speed.
• Ensure that every economic policy answers one question:Does it serve human dignity?

 

8. Rethink Development

 

Development must mean deepening life, not just expanding infrastructure.

• Stop mistaking concrete for civilization, or speed for success.
• Redefine progress as harmony — with self, society, and soil.
• Choose balance over excess, slowness over stress, and depth over data.

 

Not Utopia — But Survival with Soul

 

This is not utopian nostalgia. It is grounded realism. These were once the principles by which humanity survived, thrived, and found peace.

 

If we do not choose to remember what made us human, we will be reshaped into something post-human — efficient, connected, productive, but ultimately empty.

The past is not to be worshipped — but learned from.

 

And from the ashes of lost villages, temples, forests, and families — a new civilization can rise, rooted in ancient wisdom, reborn with new resolve.

 

Let us replant the seeds of humanity — in our homes, in our hearts, and in our hopes.

Let us begin again

We do not need to return to the past — but we must remember what made us truly human.

 

Let us all start small:

 

• Slow down.
• Speak kindly.
• Share a meal.
• Plant a tree.
• Listen to elders.
• Teach our children values.
• Reconnect with the sacred and the soil.
• One act of care at a time.
• One home at a time.
• One village at a time.

 

This is how we rebuild what was lost — by living differently, starting now.

 

The future doesn’t need to be written in code or concrete.

It must be written in how we choose to live — with courage, with compassion, and with conscience.

 

Let us begin – today together.

 

 

 

 

Shenali D Waduge