by In an industry defined by its ever-evolving nature, tourism and hospitality demand more than academic theory—they demand real-world experience, lived insight, and intellectual honesty. I write this article not from a place of defense, but from a position of informed authority, earned through decades of field exposure across continents.
My contributions to the public discourse on tourism, hospitality management, and industry ethics are grounded in personal and professional experiences that span Sri Lanka, the Maldives, the UAE, Saudi Arabia, Rwanda, Zanzibar, Turkey, and Thailand. I have walked the corridors of five-star hotels and sat in lecture halls as both student and educator. With two MBA degrees, a Doctorate in Tourism and Hospitality Management, and formal academic exposure in the UK, USA, and Scotland, my writing reflects lived truths—not borrowed theories.
And yet, some editorial circles in Sri Lanka, particularly those stewarding English-language publications, have raised concerns:
- “What are the sources of your articles?”
- “We have found plagiarism issues.”
- “These ideas are already published elsewhere.”
Let me offer clarity—not as a rebuttal, but as a matter of record.
On Sourcing and Experience: Lived Knowledge Is Not Googleable
It must be said plainly: I do not cite sources because I am the source. My articles are rooted in my own observations, engagements with guests, colleagues, and stakeholders across borders. My stories emerge from boardrooms in Riyadh, beach resorts in Zanzibar, and sustainability projects in Rwanda—not Wikipedia footnotes. When a hotelier writes from experience, the authority lies in the narrative itself, not in second-hand citations.
Would you ask a chef for sources after tasting a signature dish? Would you question a pilot’s flight log when you’re safely landed? The obsession with citations in experiential writing is misplaced when the writer has, as I do, lived the material. This is the foundation of my voice.
On Plagiarism Accusations: Misunderstood and Misapplied
Some editors suggest that my articles may be flagged for plagiarism. Ironically, most of these articles are flagged because they have already been published—on my personal platforms like LinkedIn, Facebook, and my professional website. I am a senior contributor to TripAdvisor, where my content reaches thousands of travelers globally. To then use Turnitin or similar academic tools to “catch” duplication from my own previously published content is a fundamental misapplication of technology.
Plagiarism is the act of passing off someone else’s work as your own. Publishing my own articles across multiple platforms is not plagiarism—it is syndication, a common practice for independent thought leaders globally.
If your concern lies in duplication, be clear. But do not weaponize plagiarism accusations against those of us who own our intellectual footprint across platforms.
Gatekeeping in Local Media and Academia: A Culture of Exclusion
I have witnessed a troubling trend in Sri Lanka’s editorial and academic landscape: the silent exclusion of voices that challenge conventional structures. Despite holding international qualifications, industry experience, and a growing reader base, I have been repeatedly sidelined by Sri Lankan universities, the national hotel school, and various tourism authorities.
Why? Is it jealousy? Insecurity? Or merely the inability to accommodate alternative, experience-driven thinking?
In other countries, professionals with industry depth are invited to shape curriculum, lead guest lectures, and advise policy. In Sri Lanka, we are often met with silence or suspicion. Some seem threatened by independent thinkers who don’t fit the mold of their carefully guarded networks.
Let me be clear: I do not seek validation. I seek impact. Whether or not my articles are published in your paper, they continue to be shared, cited, and appreciated by learners, practitioners, and travelers across the globe.
Academia vs. Industry: Bridging the False Divide
I exist in both worlds—academic and practical. I conduct research, develop concepts, and teach. I also manage hotels, optimize operations, and face real-time guest challenges. This duality is a strength, not a conflict.
Sadly, in Sri Lanka, this balance is often misunderstood. The academic gatekeepers demand citations and journalistic stiffness. The industry players seek rigid structure over flexibility. Where is the space for hybrid thought? For lived wisdom? For practitioner scholars?
I am not interested in paper titles, positions, or academic rankings. I am interested in solving the real issues facing Sri Lanka’s tourism sector:
- The seasonal dependency of our hotel sector
- The greenwashing of sustainability practices
- The poor integration of community-based tourism
- The lack of true hospitality in a country known for it
- The failure to train future professionals in real-world thinking
These issues cannot be resolved with empty rhetoric or superficial seminars. They require people who have faced the problems firsthand.
Editorial Elitism: The Rise of Armchair Editors
When I submit an article to a publication, I do so out of respect for its reach—not because I need its validation. And yet, the editorial culture in some circles reflects more insecurity than integrity.
Have these editors worked in a hotel? Have they designed a guest experience program? Have they led a crisis recovery effort during a pandemic or managed cross-cultural staff dynamics?
Too often, the answer is no. And yet, they wield red pens and plagiarism tools without understanding the essence of industry writing. This is not academia. This is not fiction. This is a professional reflection, drawn from global exposure.
Before you reject a piece, ask yourself: Are you judging content, or are you simply uncomfortable with authority that doesn’t wear your preferred uniform?
Education by Example: Thought Leadership as Service
Every article I write—whether published in a newspaper or on my LinkedIn profile—is written for the same audience: learners. They may be students, junior hoteliers, tourism officers, or curious travelers. For them, my work serves as a window into a world they may one day shape.
I do not write for applause. I write to educate, to provoke thought, and to offer fresh lenses on a stagnant discourse. Many young professionals contact me to say how one concept, one story, one insight changed how they think about their job or industry. That is the highest form of impact an educator can have.
Let me remind my critics: While you police fonts and footnotes, I teach. I influence. I share. I build.
The Sri Lankan Tourism Crisis: A Leadership Deficit, Not a Resource Gap
We often speak of Sri Lanka’s tourism potential in glowing terms—pristine beaches, ancient cities, exotic wildlife. And yet, year after year, we fail to climb the ladder of global recognition.
Why?
Because our institutions are busy rejecting the very people who could help. Because we mistake protocol for professionalism. Because we fear creativity and silence dissent. Because we block people with original ideas, while recycling outdated ones.
This must change. Or we will remain a footnote in South Asia’s tourism narrative.
Final Thoughts: I Am Not Asking—I Am Offering
Let me be very clear to every editor, official, and academic who has ever dismissed my work without understanding it: I am not desperate to be published in your newspaper. I do not need your pages to validate my voice.
I have my own platforms. I have readers across countries. My articles are read, shared, saved, and applied.
But I still reach out—because I believe Sri Lanka deserves better tourism writing. Writing that doesn’t come from press releases or recycled stats, but from people who have walked the talk.
If you want to reject my work, do it with integrity. Not with jealousy. Not with lazy plagiarism software. Not with passive-aggressive emails.
Ask yourself: What is your contribution to the industry you claim to represent?
I will reach my goals—by vision, by hard work, by the network I have built, and by the truths I continue to tell. No gatekeeper can hold back a voice born of real experience. Not forever. Not anymore.
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