Almost twenty years ago, I received a call from Don Harold Stassen Jayawardena.
Of course, at the time I knew him as ‘Harry Jayawardena’ as did many Sri Lankans, especially in business circles. I was in England, veritably forced into exile by political circumstances which included the abduction and torture of the deputy editor of 'The Nation,' a newspaper published by Rivira Media Corporation, of which I was at the time the Managing Director, and a brutal attack on Upali Tennakoon, the editor of our sister newspaper in Sinhala. These attacks came just after my friend Lasantha Wickramatunge implored me to leave the country and not too long before he himself was killed. It was a time not just of exile but abandonment; for reasons of convenience or fear almost all those I considered friends avoided me. There were a handful who didn’t give a damn about possible consequences or cared enough to be supportive. I didn’t count Harry among them.
I knew him as a prominent businessman who had personal relationships with many who walked the corridors of power. Such men take care not only to please those in power or those who may one day be in power. His mocking tone didn’t surprise me, therefore. He teased me about having to leave Sri Lanka. In the same gloating tone, he referred to a not very complimentary full page article about him that was published in ‘The Nation.' He told me that he was quite used to his rivals using the media as puppets to attack him. He did everything, it seemed to me, to reaffirm that he was exactly the image I had of him – a ruthless business tycoon.
Then it all changed. The tone of booming mockery gave way to a more grave, measured cadence. He told me that in all his inquiries, he was surprised at how many people defended me to him privately and told him that he had the wrong impression of me. He reminded me that he had known my father's family well. He assured me that he held no grudge, implored me to be safe, and suggested that we meet when I returned to Sri Lanka.
I do not know who spoke to him about me or what exactly he was told, but owe these people a tremendous debt of gratitude, for facilitating one of the most unique and enduring friendships I have ever had.
I took him up on his offer to visit him at his office in Ja Ela when I returned to Colombo. Seeing me in a white, short-sleeved button-down shirt, he remarked that I had inherited this personal uniform from my uncles Evans and Christy. And so we became friends. I took to calling him “Lokka” and he did the same. We still do.
Looking back, I feel that we have closely studied each other’s lives, habits and foibles and perhaps discovered similarities we hadn’t been conscious of. Quick tempered with a bark worse than the bite, we were both stubborn, generous in advice and stingy in taking it. We spoke at length about life, health, work, family and legacy. We indulged each other’s sermons on these and other subjects but would never want to get caught embracing the other’s advice.
Harry has always warned me to steer clear of politics, never more so than in late 2019, when it became clear that a Gotabaya Rajapaksa presidency was becoming inevitable. One night, he visited our home in Borella and repeated his warnings in the gravest terms. I still remember his words.
“They are angry with you and they’ll come for you. You should know that they’ll come for you. The only way to protect yourself and your family is to get out of this mess now.”
As always, he had come with a solution. He offered to recommend me for the chairmanship of a prominent business outside of his umbrella.
“I know you can do this. They can use you now. It will get you out of politics, let things cool down, and if you stay out of this election at least from now on, you’ll be safe,” he said.
I could tell at once that Harry had put an incredible amount of thought into this and would have done all he could to see it through. However, as has often been the case when we tried to help each other, my mind flew past my interests, and on to Harry’s. I proposed to him another person who I thought would be a better fit for that role. It was almost enough to make him blow a gasket.
“Obviously he would be a better fit! Do you think I don’t know that? What the hell is wrong with you?” he thundered. “When someone offers you an opportunity , who turns around and suggests that you give it to someone else? Do you realise what will happen to you?”
I replied that I had done nothing wrong, had never even gotten so much as a parking ticket, and so should not be at any risk on account of supporting a candidate at an election.
“You think these bloody politicians will help you? They’ll all save themselves. Wait and see. Most of them will use you and leave you to hang. Is anyone else even thinking of your safety, of your future? What do you think will happen when they’re all trying to save themselves?”
He was correct. The new regime was quick to pounce on perceived political enemies. Many fled, some were arrested and tortured, and others, like myself, were framed on trumped up charges that were conjured by the police and disseminated through the media but never once submitted to any court of law. Pro-government media outlets continuously alleged that I, along with others, were part of some incoherent but supposedly treasonous international conspiracy. The CID had been ordered to search my phone records for anything that could be used to charge me. He was right; no one bothered to inquire after me when once again I incurred the wrath of the Rajapaksas.
For better, or for worse, I turned Harry down that night. His kindness and care for me were unparalleled, but it still amazed me that he had the space in his mind to conjure such a carefully thought-out plan for my wellbeing despite being among the busiest people in the country.
To understand how that happened is to understand the sheer concentration of energy and willpower that powers Harry through a day in his life. He built his empire from the ground up, founding and turning around companies that make things and provide services. He identified and fostered leaders with good judgment, devotion, and growth mindsets, and set an example of discipline, dedication and fearlessness.
He was a man who started at the very bottom of the ladder, and was proud of the work he did to get to the top. He was proud of the loyalty he had shown to those who saw his potential. He was proud of having never let down those who gave him opportunities to prove himself. And he was proud of his instincts and ability to weigh risks and take business bets that would pay off.
Harry was not born with these traits. He fostered them through his long career, honing each of them over six decades as he went from being an employee to a manager, to a manager of managers, all the way to where the buck stopped with him. At one time or another, he has been in the shoes of someone at every level of his 20,000 strong conglomerate.
This is why he has zero patience for those who take advantage of others, take credit for work that isn’t their own, play political games in the office, try to get away with laziness or who take the opportunity in front of them for granted. As a businessman whose word is his bond, he cannot tolerate anyone who negotiates in bad faith. Having been a government servant himself, he has even less patience for sluggish government bureaucracy. And it is usually when these buttons are pushed that he ends up in the headlines.
Indeed, this same lived experience has ingrained in Harry other traits that never garner headlines. Just as Harry can see through qualities he detests; he can just as quickly identify qualities he admires. He can see potential in even the most junior employee with an instinct born of his own youth. He can sense when managers or executives are not just clocking in and out every day, but are living and breathing their work, mindful of the fact that hundreds if not thousands of families depend on their daily decisions to continue feeding and educating their children. He can see government servants who are trying to do the right thing but are being undermined because they refuse to cut corners. His ability to identify and instinct to reward, nurture and protect promising or under-appreciated employees or others caught between a rock and a hard place is key to his success and a quality all too rare in today’s society.
Over time, I realised that Harry would often goad people to be selfish and to put themselves and their own interests first. By doing so, he amplified his own reputation as being “selfish”, but in fact, he appears to grow closest to those who sidestepped his advice and stayed true to a moral compass. As much as I admired this quality in him, I had to imagine that even Harry had limits. But after the events of December 2019, I learned that he has none.
My family and I were on holiday in Malaysia when word came down that it was not safe for us to return for some time. People I considered to be good friends succumbed to offers to cook up stories about me in exchange for favours from the incoming regime. They included several people who had spent years telling me how grateful they were for my friendship, that they would always stand by me. The bearable cost, it turned out, was an official position and a modest fuel allowance. As the heavens came crashing down on me and my family, most who had called themselves my friend until just weeks before had now decided that these “serious allegations” against me must be true.
As Harry had so correctly predicted, most in the political class decided to play it safe and remain silent as my name was dragged through the mud. People tiptoed away. Harry was a rock. He was unmoved. He drew even closer to me, the consequences be damned. He called me daily, wanting to know details of my family and if our parents in Colombo needed anything, and to discuss how we could support ourselves in a foreign country. Such friendship is rare indeed and is truly unforgettable, however many years pass and to which corners of the world our lives take us. Simply put, Harry’s loyalty and friendship and indeed the extraordinary trust he has placed in me I will cherish till the day I die.
There were many times when we met up for a good drink. We would talk about old times, our parents, our families, politics and of course other unpublishable stuff and have a good laugh. I miss those moments, but one thing that is indelibly printed in my mind is what he said to me in a particularly anxious moment in my life. It was in a restaurant in Singapore. As we went to wash our hands, he took me aside, held my hand tight, looked straight into my eyes, tapped his heart and said, ‘‘just remember that as long as I am alive I will never let Krishantha Cooray go down.’
I told him that I don’t need anything but that his word meant much to me and that it felt good to know that I have friends like him. Looking back, I remember that as close as we were and often though we spoke, he did make it a point to call me every single day after November 2019. Simply put, Harry J is a damn fine friend from head to toe. I had his confidence, and no one could come between us.
Don Harold Stassen Jayawardena will turn 82 tomorrow, the 17th of August. If such terms can be applied to human relationships, I have no hesitation in saying it out loud and clear that Harry’s friendship is squeaky clean. He may be a hardnosed businessman, but he possesses the softest heartbeat I’ve ever known. Saying 'happy birthday' is just not enough. Maybe all that needs to be said is 'let's meet up soon,' as we always did.
(Krishantha Prasad Cooray)
