Recently, David Buell Sabapathy Jeyaraj, better known as D.B.S. Jeyaraj, one of the most distinctive voices in South Asian journalism, passed away in Toronto at the age of 72. For more than five decades, Jeyaraj built a unique identity in a field often shaped by political currents and partisan loyalties.
He began his career at Veerakesari, Sri Lanka’s leading Tamil daily, before moving into English-language journalism, contributing to some of the region’s most respected newspapers in both Sri Lanka and India.
His years in journalism spanned the length of my own life, though for many years I knew him only through his words. My political involvement at the time – and the influence of others’ opinions – defined the boundaries of how I perceived him.
In those years, opinions about D.B.S. Jeyaraj swirled endlessly within Tamil nationalist circles. I too was swept along by the tide.
Without taking the time to properly read his work, I relied on second-hand impressions. It is a familiar flaw in Tamil political culture: conclusions are often drawn from hearsay rather than from a careful engagement with a person’s words. Too often, we skim the surface, pass judgement, and move on – without pausing to weigh the logic or intent behind what is written. Only later, when revisited with clarity, do we realise how little we truly understood. I was no exception.
I never knew Jeyaraj personally, but in recent years I had the opportunity to interact with him. My writings in Eelanadu (a Jaffna-based Tamil daily) impressed him. “Who is writing in such a brave way?” he once asked his close friend, former Chief Editor of Thinakkural V. Thanabalasingham. When he learnt it was me, he expressed appreciation.
In October last year, during a visit to Canada, he invited me to his home. Many avoided him there, unsettled by rumours spread against him. But he never feared such hostility; he never ran away.
In Tamil media, the tendency to view everything in stark black and white has long prevailed, and it continues to shape discourse even today. Worth was measured almost entirely by one’s support for the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) and its political positions. Those who did not fit that definition were swiftly branded as traitors.
The late journalist and military analyst Darmaratnam Sivaram – better known as Taraki – illustrates this perfectly. Once a senior member of the LTTE’s rival People's Liberation Organisation of Tamil Eelam (PLOTE), he later became a journalist and openly criticised the Tigers. Yet when he eventually shifted to defending the LTTE, he was instantly embraced as a Tamil nationalist. That became the yardstick: loyalty to the LTTE defined Tamil nationalism.
Critics have argued that Jeyaraj was not entirely exceptional in this regard. For a time, he too was seen as supportive – until the clash between Mahattaya and Prabhakaran. Gopalaswamy Mahendraraja, alias Mahattaya, was suspected of being an agent of India’s external intelligence agency, the Research and Analysis Wing (RAW), and was later killed by the LTTE. No public evidence was ever produced by the LTTE to substantiate the claim. Jeyaraj, who had close links with Mahattaya, challenged this narrative and defended him.
In Toronto, LTTE supporters attacked Jeyaraj following his sharp criticism of Prabhakaran in this regard. In Jeyaraj’s view, the allegation against Mahattaya was unfounded; the real issue, he argued, was Mahattaya’s popularity, which wounded Prabhakaran’s ego. Many stories remain shrouded in mystery in Tamil politics, and this is one of them.
In my reading, Jeyaraj was nothing short of a living archive of Tamil political history. His understanding of Eelam Tamil politics – its evolution, movements, and personalities – was remarkable. Over four decades, he chronicled events with meticulous detail.
While some critics described him as being ‘against the LTTE,’ his body of work reflects a broader commitment. Writing in the Colombo-based Daily Mirror, he documented its commanders – Colonel Theepan, Charles, and Brigadier Balraj – year after year, and also covered figures such as Anton Balasingham, Mahattaya, and K.P. with exceptional depth.
At times I wondered what drove his persistence, but to me the essence of his work was clear: history must be recorded. It was for time and the people to judge whether it was right or wrong.
For today’s younger generation, anyone wishing to understand the LTTE or the political history of the Eelam Tamils has no choice but to turn to Jeyaraj’s articles. He alone chronicled the past to such depth.
During our conversation in Toronto, he shared many insights. When Norway brokered the peace process, Anton Balasingham, the LTTE ideologist, sought strong media support and tried to win Jeyaraj over. He even sent Fr. S.J. Emmanuel, a Sri Lankan Tamil Catholic priest and staunch LTTE supporter, to meet him. Jeyaraj agreed, renewing his old friendship with Bala.
“I was patient for six months,” he told me, “but things did not move as I hoped, so I returned to my old style of writing.” Bala, frustrated, asked Lasantha Wickrematunge not to publish his articles, claiming they obstructed the peace process. With a smile, Jeyaraj added: “Indeed, it was Bala who asked me to introduce him to Lasantha.”
In our recent exchanges, Jeyaraj returned to one theme with striking consistency: the Tamil people, he believed, have little chance of meaningful political progress. If any opening existed, it was through the Provincial Council – a “golden opportunity,” in his words, squandered by Tamil leaders themselves. Today, even that path looks precarious. With the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP)-led National People’s Power (NPP) now in power, the future of the 13th Amendment is uncertain. Should India withdraw its support, the amendment could disappear altogether.
For Jeyaraj, India’s involvement was the only thread keeping alive a political opportunity for Tamils. Yet he lamented that Tamil political leaders, even 16 years after the war, still failed to grasp this reality. His words carried the weight of deep frustration: he spoke plainly, but too often, no one truly understood what he was saying.
In December 2024, I wrote in Eelanadu questioning the purpose of my writings today. He responded on Messenger: “I read your article in Eelanadu. Especially the opening paragraphs. Just think of my plight. Writing for 47 years in English and Tamil in so many papers, blogs, websites, and magazines. Giving interviews to many journals, TV, and radio until 2009. Nothing has happened. Everything I warned and cautioned against has come to pass. All advice and suggestions went unheeded. In our church, for Paava Arikkai we say in Tamil: ‘Seyyathākavatrai seyyāmalum, seyyathāhāthavatrai seithum vanthom.’ That is what has happened, is happening, and will happen. Yet I go on writing, not knowing why, and knowing it is fruitless. But then...”
(The writer is a journalist from the east)
(The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect the official position of this publication)