There are some journalists whose work we read and then move on. And there are others whose writing makes us stop, think, and look at the country differently. D.B.S. Jeyaraj, who passed away on 17 May, was one of them.
Whenever I saw an article by DBS, as he was widely known, appear in a newspaper, it was the first I read. He was primarily a columnist and political analyst, with a deep knowledge of the history of Sri Lanka’s ethnic conflict.
However, his columns were not simply analysis or opinion. They were rooted in what was happening in Sri Lanka and in what people involved in those developments were saying. We could see this in his frequent references to first-hand comments from people he had spoken to. He did this both when he lived in Sri Lanka and later, when he was living in Canada. That was no easy task.
In a 2013 interview, after returning to Sri Lanka for the first time in 25 years, DBS described how he had continued to report on Sri Lanka from Canada by maintaining contacts at home. He said that he broke his rest daily to communicate with contacts in Sri Lanka and that this dual existence of living physically in Canada and mentally in Sri Lanka took a heavy toll on his health and finances.
However, that commitment mattered and allowed him to write about Sri Lanka from afar without losing touch with what was happening on the ground. His writings gave readers a sense of what was happening in the north and east, as well as of politics more generally in Sri Lanka.
Fighting to keep the truth alive
Speaking at the commemoration and book launch organised by the Tamil Media Alliance last week, The Island and The Sunday Times Founding Editor Vijitha Yapa, under whom DBS worked, captured an important quality of his journalism when he said: “DBS had no venom. That was his greatness.”
He also recalled how DBS stood up to pressure and threats and continued writing about the Tamil community while insisting on fair play irrespective of race or religion.
Ilankai Tamil Arasu Katchi (ITAK) General Secretary M.A. Sumanthiran put forth another aspect of DBS’s contribution even more directly: “Truth is the first casualty of war. DBS fought to keep the truth alive.” He recalled that DBS always cross-checked his news and noted that even those who hated him read his columns to find the truth.
These observations capture two qualities that made DBS special. The first was his commitment to truth and second was his ability to write about a deeply divisive subject without venom. DBS was a Tamil writing about the north and east and the Tamil national question in a deeply polarised environment. Yet he wrote for the mainstream English language press and was widely read not only by Tamils but also by people from other communities.
His writing helped make the concerns, political aspirations, and historical experiences of the Tamil community accessible to readers beyond it. His importance was not limited to his being a Tamil journalist. His writing mattered because it addressed the country as a whole. Issues and perspectives that might otherwise have remained within particular communities could become part of a wider national debate.
Another noteworthy feature of DBS was his ability to be realistic in his assessments. With his wide knowledge of history, he understood that each side in the national conflict had its own history, fears, and perceptions of threat. He recognised that the conflict could not be properly understood through the narrative of one side alone. He understood that there could be no unilateral solution imposed by one side or the other.
That realism is particularly important in a country where political positions have often been presented as if the concerns of one community could be resolved without addressing those of another. A journalist who understands this complexity needs to do more than simply take sides. He or she can help readers understand why the conflict has endured, why trust has been so difficult to establish, and why lasting peace requires more than one dominant story.
A great personal cost
There was also something revealing about DBS’s return to Sri Lanka in 2013. In the interview he gave during that visit, he said he deliberately avoided politics.
He wanted to experience the country from the perspective of an ordinary person rather than through the views of politicians or political associates. He observed a disconnect between the needs of the people and those of the political class. In retrospect, that observation was remarkably prescient. The disconnect he identified in 2013 would become dramatically visible in the Aragalaya of 2022.
In the same interview, he offered an observation that deserves to be remembered. A journalist may not be able to write all that he or she wants to because of external constraints, he said. But no journalist should write what he or she does not want to write because of external pressure.
His commitment to independent journalism came at a considerable personal cost. He was arrested and detained by the Sri Lankan Police in 1987 after his reporting on the war in Jaffna, and in 1993, while living in Canada, he was brutally assaulted by Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) supporters who fractured both his legs.
The gap he left in journalism
For all these reasons, I consider DBS to have been a mentor of mine. I never said so to him. Mentors are not always people who formally teach us or with whom we have a close personal relationship. Sometimes they are people whose work we follow, whose judgement we respect, and whose example helps shape our own understanding of what we should strive to do. DBS was such a person for me.
His passing has left a gap. His journalism was informed by history but connected to the present, rooted in facts but open to interpretation, and concerned with the realities of all communities.
The collection of his writings launched in his memory by the Tamil Media Alliance is therefore more than a record of an important period in Sri Lanka’s history. It is also a reminder of what journalism can be at its best.
DBS showed that a journalist could understand one community without becoming confined to it, analyse conflict without being partisan, and take a position without losing sight of complexity. Above all, he showed the value of journalism that seeks to keep the truth alive. For those who read him regularly, the greatest reminder of his absence is the absence of his next column.
(The writer is the Executive Director of the National Peace Council)
(The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect the official position of this publication)