Sunday Times 2
The JR I Disliked — A review of courage, candour and historical balance
View(s):By Dr Mahim Mendis, Open University of Sri Lanka
The latest addition to the “Historic Thoughts” series by the J.R. Jayewardene Centre arrives with a provocative title: The J.R. I Disliked by Imthiaz Bakeer Markar. Yet beneath its seemingly adversarial framing lies a reflective and intellectually honest reassessment of one of Sri Lanka’s most consequential political figures—J.R. Jayewardene.
This publication, based on a commemorative lecture, is not merely a memoir fragment. It is a political meditation on leadership, ideological evolution, and the necessity of historical sobriety in a time when public discourse is often driven by caricature rather than careful analysis.
Candour as political virtue
What immediately distinguishes Markar’s lecture is its rare tone of sincerity. He openly recalls that, as a young activist, he seconded a proposal to expel Jayewardene from the United National Party—a confession that gives the work unusual credibility. In Sri Lankan political culture, where retrospective loyalty often replaces honest memory, such candour is refreshing.
Markar’s narrative demonstrates a crucial democratic lesson: political disagreement need not devolve into permanent enmity. His recollection of Jayewardene’s magnanimity—promoting a former critic based on merit rather than loyalty—reveals a statesman confident enough to transcend factional bitterness. This alone makes the publication politically instructive for a generation accustomed to zero-sum politics.
Beyond the right–left caricature
One of the most valuable contributions of this text is its implicit challenge to the simplistic labeling of Jayewardene as merely a “right-wing” leader. A careful reading of Jayewardene’s own parliamentary interventions supports this reassessment.
As early as the 1940s, he warned:
“We are suffering due to an administrative system established and protected by foreign rulers… Until we are freed from this imperialist and capitalist administrative system, we will not… resolve the serious issues we face.”
This is not the language of doctrinaire capitalism. Nor was Jayewardene drawn to orthodox Marxism. Instead, his political philosophy reflected what may best be described as a pragmatic middle path—informed, arguably, by Buddhist political ethics that moulded his own life.
He himself signalled this balance when he insisted Sri Lanka must learn from global systems without surrendering autonomy. His famous reply to US pressure over the rubber-rice trade remains instructive:
“We do not compromise our independence in exchange for aid… from the United States or any other country.”
In an era when small states again face geopolitical bargaining pressures, this principle retains striking relevance.
Architect of transformative pragmatism
Markar is at his strongest when recounting Jayewardene’s political resilience. The rebuilding of the UNP after the 1956 defeat, the strategic patience during opposition years, and the eventual 1977 mandate illustrate what John F. Kennedy called “discipline under continuous pressure.”
Historically, Jayewardene’s policy legacy is too significant to be reduced to partisan memory. His role in a) opening the economy b) establishing free trade zones c) expanding irrigation and electrification d) strengthening free education through textbooks and Mahapola e) modernising communications and infrastructure collectively altered Sri Lanka’s development trajectory.
Critics may debate the social costs of liberalisation, but no serious historian can deny the structural transformation that followed 1977. Markar rightly reminds us that many revenue streams and institutional pathways Sri Lanka relies on today originated in that reform moment.
The independence question revisited
Perhaps the most intellectually compelling sections of the lecture revisit Jayewardene’s pre-independence thought. His insistence—alongside D.S. Senanayake—that Ceylon’s participation in World War II must be tied to a guarantee of freedom reveals remarkable foresight.
Equally revealing is his humanistic vision:
“Landlessness, poverty and hunger cannot be eradicated… until every vestige of foreign rule is swept away… so that English, Indian, Dravidian etc. can work hand-in-hand.”
Here we see a leader whose nationalism was not exclusionary but developmental and pluralist—a nuance often lost in contemporary polemics.
International Realism without subservience
Markar’s discussion of the 1951 San Francisco Peace Conference is particularly important for younger scholars. Jayewardene’s invocation of the Buddhist maxim “Nahi verena verani” in defence of Japan’s dignity was not rhetorical flourish; it was strategic moral diplomacy.
Likewise, his firm response to foreign pressure over Sri Lanka’s trade choices demonstrates a foreign policy posture that was neither isolationist nor submissive but sovereignly pragmatic.
In today’s multipolar uncertainty, Sri Lanka could profit from revisiting this calibrated realism.
The necessary balance
To his credit, Markar does not canonise Jayewardene. He acknowledges criticisms—authoritarian tendencies, the referendum extension, media tensions. This intellectual honesty strengthens rather than weakens his overall argument.
History, after all, is not served by hagiography.
Yet the broader point of the publication—and one I strongly endorse—is that Sri Lanka’s public discourse has too often magnified Jayewardene’s flaws while neglecting the scale of his statecraft. Serious scholarship demands proportionality.
Why this book matters now
At a time when historical study in Sri Lanka risks being flattened by partisan narratives and social-media simplifications, The J.R. I Disliked performs a valuable civic function. It models three urgently needed habits:
Intellectual humility — the willingness to revise earlier judgments
Political generosity — recognising merit across factional lines
Historical balance — weighing achievements alongside failures
For younger Sri Lankans especially, the work is a reminder that national development is rarely the product of ideological purity. It is, more often, the outcome of pragmatic adaptation — something Jayewardene understood deeply.
Final assessment
This slim publication succeeds precisely because of its honesty. Markar’s journey from youthful critic to reflective admirer mirrors the maturation Sri Lanka’s own political analysis must undergo.
Whatever one’s partisan position, the evidence remains compelling: Jayewardene was among the most consequential executive leaders in our post-independence history—a statesman who sought, with notable pragmatism, to position Sri Lanka for social, economic and international advancement.
If this volume encourages a new generation to study his record with intellectual seriousness rather than inherited prejudice, it will have performed a national service.
And in that sense, the “J.R. he once disliked” may yet become the J.R. a thoughtful nation learns to understand more fully.