By Rihaab Mowlana

It’s not often that a piece of latex makes national headlines. But Sri Lanka is once again debating whether condom use belongs in classrooms, with the Ministry of Health pushing for change, the National Institute of Education (NIE) drafting updates to the Grade 10 science textbook, and the Ministry of Education holding back, citing “broader reforms.”

While some media reports have described this as a tug-of-war between ministries, the Education side hasn’t formally rejected the proposal. What we do know for certain is this: the Health Ministry is calling for condoms, PrEP, and PEP to be included in science lessons, arguing that vague references to “responsible sexual behaviour” are not enough. Behind the policy wrangling lies a much bigger issue, one that has less to do with latex and everything to do with how we treat our youth.

What the Numbers Say

The 2024 Global School Health Survey (GSHS) should be a wake-up call. It found that only 63% of Sri Lankan students had even heard of HIV/AIDS, down from 77% in 2016. Even more troubling, the proportion of students taught about HIV prevention in schools fell from 67.1% in 2016 to 44.2% in 2024.

The same survey revealed that 4.6% of students reported having engaged in sexual activity. On the surface, it looks like a small number. But in a country where sex remains taboo in classrooms, every percentage point represents thousands of young people trying to navigate intimacy without proper guidance. 

This problem doesn’t disappear with age. The Sri Lanka National Youth Health Survey (2012–13) found that nearly half of the youth lacked basic sexual and reproductive health knowledge. Only 14.7% of young people reported being sexually active, but among those who were, just 30.4% had used condoms in the past year.

At the university level, risky behaviour is even more obvious. A 2018 study of undergraduates in the Western Province reported that of those who had sex in the past year, 85.8% did not use a condom during their most recent encounter.

But curriculum changes alone won’t solve the problem. Teachers themselves often lack the training and confidence to deliver sex education. A study in the Kandy region found that 56.7% of teachers admitted they felt ‘shy’ or uncomfortable teaching sexual health, with many resorting to asking students to ‘go home and read’ instead. When the adults in the room can’t address the subject, young people are left to patch together answers on their own.

Where Students Actually Learn From

When schools stay silent and teachers shy away, young people don’t stop being curious; they just go looking elsewhere. Often, that means friends, social media, and porn. Peers pass along half-truths, usually recycled from older siblings or myths. TikTok and Instagram churn out snappy, sensationalised content that confuses more than it clarifies. And pornography (still a first point of reference for many) sets wildly unrealistic expectations about sex, bodies, and consent.

The search doesn’t stop there. Online behaviour shows the scale of that curiosity: Sri Lanka has consistently ranked among the top countries in the world for Google searches of the word “sex,” particularly between 2012 and 2016. This doesn’t mean Sri Lankans are more promiscuous. It means there’s a curiosity gap. Students are asking questions, but without credible guidance, those clicks lead them straight into unreliable and unfiltered sources.

The result isn’t education but distortion. Instead of learning that condoms prevent infections or that consent is non-negotiable, students absorb a patchwork of misinformation. For many, this becomes their first “curriculum” on sex; one built not on science or empathy, but on silence, rumour, and the internet’s worst tendencies.

The Myth vs. The Evidence

Opponents of sex ed often argue that “teaching it will encourage it.” But the data tells a different story. A global review by Advocates for Youth, which analysed more than 80 comprehensive sex education programs, found that two-thirds delayed the start of sexual activity, reduced the number of partners, and increased condom use. About 60% also reduced unprotected sex.

In other words, when you teach young people the facts, they don’t run wild. They pause, they reflect, and they make safer choices. It’s ignorance that puts them at risk, not knowledge.

Even at the university level, the stigma is palpable. When psychology chapters on sex and sexuality come up, students squirm, avoid eye contact, and giggle nervously. But once the topic is normalised and treated like any other subject, the mood shifts. They ask thoughtful, grounded questions. They show emotional intelligence. They want clarity, not because they’re itching for scandal, but because they’re desperate for adults to speak plainly.

This is exactly why introducing condoms into a Grade 10 textbook is not about “teaching kids to have sex.” It’s about teaching them to take ownership of their health and decisions before misinformation does it for them.

Why It Matters

Sri Lankan students often enter degree programs very young, funnelled into higher education pathways straight after A/Ls. Many are technically “adults” but socially still in transition, facing complex relationships and pressures. Without structured guidance, their first lessons on intimacy come from unreliable sources.

And while ministries dither, students are the ones paying the price: higher risks of STIs, unintended pregnancies, and the kind of shame-fuelled silence that makes it harder to ask for help.

Condoms in a textbook aren’t just about contraception. They’re about dignity, health, and trust. They’re about acknowledging that our youth are capable of handling the truth, if only the adults would find the courage to give it to them.

The Health Ministry is right to push for comprehensive education. Because the real danger isn’t a condom in a textbook. The real danger is pretending that ignorance is safer than knowledge.