Cast From The Herd: Excerpt #89: A New Breed of Prefects

 Cast From The Herd:  Memories of Matriarchal Malaysia

M. Bakri Musa

Excerpt # 89:  A New Breed of Prefects

Earlier I mentioned that teachers at Malay College, being a fully residential school, played a major influence in the lives of their students beyond the classrooms. More specifically these teachers, especially the senior ones, had a pivotal role in selecting prefects, and through that influence the path and culture of the college’s student body. Prefects enjoyed a number of privileges, the most coveted being the luxury of a private cubicle in the dorm they were assigned to supervise.

            Near the end of the year the current prefects would vet potential candidates and forward the list to the headmaster. He in consultation with the teachers would then make the final choice. It was also the tradition to appoint in their second year those new Sixth Formers who had been head prefects at their former school. In my year there was a bumper crop of them, far exceeding the available slots. Meaning, a few potential candidates among the old timers would not be appointed as the slots would have been correspondingly reduced. 

            Those aspiring prefects would begin their ‘campaign’ by being on the good side of the current ones. Some would be more blatant, earning the wrath of their college mates for “sucking up;” others, more subtle. By the time the prefects’ board met, the rumors would be rife as to who had been successful and who were not. 

            The headmaster and teachers would then review the list of nominees put up by the present prefects’ board. It was after the teachers’ meeting that rumors began flying – I was among those considered even though I was not on the submitted list. Incredible! That had never happened before. Adding to the incredulity, I was far from being a standout in anything. I was not even a prefect at my old school. Nonetheless the rumor was hot. 

            When something unusual happens or even threatens to, it cries for an explanation. My name must have been put forward by my teachers, in particular Norton or Mehrotra. They did so for the single purpose to signal an important shift in the college’s emphasis. I was not convinced. Ryan would not deny those newcomers who had been head prefects at their old school this singular honor. More to the point, with the exception of a couple, all had excelled at rugby, his favorite sport. Soon the dust settled; my nomination was just that, a rumor. Normalcy returned to the Sixth Form dorm. 

            At that last school assembly for the year when Ryan read the highly-anticipated list, the first few names were no surprise. I was pleased that Ramli was picked. Then surprise of surprises, my name was announced! Immediately after doing that Ryan looked up, smirking as if asking, “Anyone has a problem with that?” 

            The hall was quiet. Apart from my fellow Sixth Formers, few in the school had heard of or even seen me. Many heads turned towards the back of the hall where we Sixth Formers were seated. Ramli whispered to me, “And you did not believe me!” 

            That was not the only surprise that morning. Ryan also announced the new head prefect to replace the graduating Nik Mohamad, a rugby legend. By tradition that honor would go to someone from the incoming graduating class – my class. The rumored two leading contenders were Mokthar Hashim and Syed Ridzuan, my old tennis coach and more importantly, also a rugby star. Instead, Ryan again stunned everyone when he named neither Mokthar nor Syed, but someone from the junior class (Lower Six). Meaning, the new head prefect would serve for two consecutive years, again an unheard of practice, at least till then. Aziz Mahmud was not just any scholar-athlete; more specific, he was a rugby standout. That notwithstanding I believed that Ryan and the teachers selected Aziz based on his scholastic achievements. He would later distinguish himself as a public health physician. 

            I had an inkling of my selection earlier. One evening I bumped into Mr. Norton when he was the duty master for the week; he inquired what I intended to take up at university. It would have been blatant false modesty if I were to respond with the usual “I want to be a teacher.” So I upped my ambition a bit, “Dentistry!” 

            He cringed. “I mean, Bakri,” he hesitated, “If that’s your real interest, that’s fine.” Then he smiled, “You know traditionally,” he hummed and hawed, “at least with my generation,” he paused again, “dentistry is, you know, for those who couldn’t get into medicine. You know what I mean?” Then aware that he should not have said it, apologized. “I mean no offence to dentists!” He laughed. 

            Oh my God, this man saw through me. Then he reminisced about his days at Fordham, and enthused on the superiority of American liberal education. Subsequent to that Mr. Mehrotra too inquired about my future plans. Then one evening in the library Mr. Ryan asked my opinion about the library and whether there were enough science reference books. He let me know that the college was embarking on a new direction to emphasize the sciences. He asked how I was managing college life (“Super, of course!”). Then he noted that since I had not stayed at a hostel before (How did he know that?), he was interested in my views of dorm life. At that time I thought those were merely simple courtesies and small talk.

 

            Those thoughts reeled through me as I went up on stage for Mr. Ryan to pin that coveted prefect’s badge on me. As I walked up I made eye contact with Norton and Mehrotra who were seated on either side of Ryan. Both smiled. That was also the first time many in the audience had seen me, apart from my forgettable performance at Introduction Night earlier in the year. 

Next:  Excerpt #90:  A Prefect De-Badged

Evaluate Maqasid Syariah By Its Impact

 Evaluate Maqasid Syariah By Its Impact

M. Bakri Musa

 

Maqasid Syariah (the objectives of syariah) refers to measures and practices that advance the good of a community and protect it against evils and losses. Those are the imperatives of the Qur’an as well as the teachings of Prophet Muhammad, s.a.w.

 

            Society’s needs and priorities vary with times and conditions. Measures that would be acceptable and appropriate during peacetime would be counterproductive if not dangerous and would result in the very opposite of maqasid syaraih if adopted during an emergency.

 

            Maqasid syariah recognizes this central reality and differentiates between daruriyat (emergencies), hajiyat (meeting basic needs and necessities), and tahsiniyat (enhancements of a society). The harsh measures taken during the brutal Japanese Occupation or the deadly riots of May 13, 1969 would today be “un-Islamic” or haram. Back then those were needed for survival. Caliph Omar intuitively understood this fundamental wisdom when he suspended hudud (punitive Islamic law as with the cutting of hands for stealing) during a drought.

 

            This implicit wisdom and distinction are often not appreciated. Worse, they are willfully ignored.

 

            Maqasid syariah is to benefit society. We mock this noble intention if we miss this essence. Imam Ghazzali put the priorities of maqasid syariah as first, the preservation and enhancement of life together with intellect, and then far behind, the preservation of property, lineage, and religion. Everything else pales with the loss of life or intellect.

 

            Ulama and scholars rely on ancient texts in evaluating whether something is maqasid syariah. Such an approach is problematic in at least three fundamental ways. One, there is no assurance that an initiative no matter how brilliantly conceived and executed would produce the intended beneficial results. There are traps, obstacles, and unintended consequences, some predictable, others not. Malays do not need this reminder; we are the victims of many such failed glorious promises.

 

            Two, semantic. We cannot and should not simplistically equate such ancient terms as ribaa to today’s “interest payments” without understanding such modern concepts as the costs of capital and the time-value of money. In their arrogance compounded by ignorance, these ulama blissfully ignore or are unaware of these critical differences.

 

            Consider indebtedness. During the Prophet’s time that was a sure path towards putting yourself and your family into indentured servitude if not outright enslavement. Today no one goes to jail for failing to repay his debt; we have bankruptcy laws. In Malaysia however, the Ah Longs could still break your leg as their standard operating procedure. Further, unlike during the Prophet’s era, the bulk of today’s lending and borrowings are between corporations, not individuals.

 

            Three, the insular training and limited intellectual comprehension of these ulama do not prepare them well to make these important decisions. Yet these PhDs in Islamic Studies gladly certify certain banking and financial practices as syariah-compliant. Their lucrative consultants’ fees have much to do with that, making them oblivious of the heavy burden and other negative impacts these “Islamic” products exact on their consumers. These ulama and scholars are whoring themselves to the banks.

 

            Maqasid syariah should not be evaluated prospectively (as is the current practice) but operationally, by the results and subsequent impact on the ummah. If Islamic mortgages are easier to obtain, less costly or risky, then they are maqasid syariah.

 

            Georgetown University’s Sheherazade Rehman and Hossein Askari noted that following the Prophet’s death, Islam came under the control of rulers and clerics. They espoused a version of the faith that bears little resemblance to the teachings of the Qur’an. They have also placed themselves as the only legitimate interpreters of Islam. It is this collusion of the ruling and ulama classes that is the bane of the ummah. Maqasid syariah is what would benefit the rulers and ulama, not the ummah.

 

            Rehman and Askari scrutinized the “Islamicness” of a society not by its labels but by its contents, values, and practices. Their Islamicity Index evaluates a nation’s economic activities, legal and governance structures, human and political rights, and international activities. 

 

            A regime cannot be Islamic if it is corrupt for then it cannot provide its citizens with clean potable water and other basic necessities. Exhibit A:  Kelantan. Nor could leaders claim to be Islamic if they jail citizens without affording them due process. Mahathir missed this. It is also more difficult for the ummah to be Islamic if they are poor and destitute. As per the Prophet’s wisdom, poverty invites impiety.

 

            Malays are swayed by labels, not content. We are obsessed with pursuing maqasid syariah and an Islamic state without having any idea as what to do once those are achieved. Former South African Ambassador Ebrahim Rasool had an apt metaphor for that, dogs chasing a car. It had no idea what to do with the car and ended up only peeing on the tires.

 

Cast From The Herd: Excerpt #88: Corralling A Raging Canadian Bull

 Cast From The Herd:  Memories of Matriarchal Malaysia

M. Bakri Musa

Excerpt # 88:  Corralling A Raging Canadian Bull

Later that afternoon following the morning’s humiliation during our math class, Mr. Brown wandered over to his students’ dorm which was adjacent to our Sixth Form block. He did that often; he was their dorm advisor. That afternoon however, he was not interested in visiting them; he wanted to see us. He did not know how to do that seeing that he had totally humiliated us earlier that morning. He idled his way towards our dorm. He saw one of the Arts students strumming a guitar and struck up a conversation. Soon Brown was playing the guitar and yodeling cowboy medleys. 

            Music is a great ice breaker and also, a pacifier. Before long we were chatting about what was on the Canadian hit parade list. The banter went well and casual enough, and then suddenly, an awkward silence. The lingering bitter aftertaste of the morning tirade hit us. We all knew what we were thinking but no one dared make any reference to it. 

            Atan rescued us from the embarrassing silence; he had the courage. “It’s ... it’s like this, Mr. Brown,” he said, deliberately pausing, not for emphasis but to camouflage his slight stutter, “We don’t like telling others our real ambition. We would be made fun of or worse, seen as a show-off.”

            “But I’m not 'others.' I am your teacher, for heaven’s sake.” Realizing that he had raised his voice, he stopped. “I’m sorry. Go on Atan.” 

            “Look at Nik Zainal here. He wants to be a cardiologist. He tells us that often. But then we are his friends.” 

            “Good for you Nik!’ as Brown nodded in Nik’s direction. Nik was embarrassed to be singled out. 

            “Likewise Bakri,” Atan continued, “he wants to be a surgeon.” 

            “Really! I should have asked you this morning,” as Brown turned towards me. 

            “No!” Atan interrupted, “If you did, Bakri would say he too wanted to be a teacher.” Atan was not far off there. Brown laughed as he threw his hands up in the air. Atan drove his point further. “Besar here wants to be a rocket scientist, and Syed there, a nuclear physicist.” 

            “A nuclear physicist!” hooted someone at the back in mocked admiration. 

            “See what I mean?” We all laughed; Atan had made his point, and very effectively too.

            That afternoon as he left our dorm, Brown had a better appreciation of us. Imagine if he had not come to our dorm that afternoon and a year later left for Cambridge. His impression of us Malay boys and Malays generally would have been far different. This is one handicap teachers at day schools who are not Malays have of their Malay students. Many if not most do not realize that. 

            Looking back, our behaviors then may seem odd or even pathologic, and that may well be. However this was the 1950s and 60s when Malay graduates in the sciences were as scarce as finding a banana plant in a field of lallang, and when the prevailing belief was that the Malay mind could not handle tough intellectual pursuits as the sciences. Nor was that phenomenon unique unto Malays, then or now.

            At least Mr. Brown had the chance to be corrected of his initial jaundiced impression of the natives. He did it because he was smart; he intuitively knew not to trust his quick first judgement, more so when made in anger or in the heat of the moment. This critical self-introspection is what many non-Malays in Malaysia or for that matter Malay leaders lack even to this day. Witness Mahathir’s endless tirades or excuses with regards to the ‘Malay problem.’ “We are lazy, forget easily, do not Look East enough, or that we do not emulate the successful Chinese,” he would utter with nauseating frequency at every turn. Never mind that he had over two decades and two chances to rectify the situation. Unlike Brown who tried early and earnestly to find out the answers, Mahathir and these other Malay leaders did not. They were ( and still are) satisfied – nay, smug – with their ignorance and pat solutions that have proven ineffective for the umpteenth time.

Next:  Episode 89:  A New Breed Of Prefects

Cast From The Herd Excerpt #87: Bucking The Entrenched Trend

 Cast From The Herd:  Memories of Matriarchal Malaysia

M. Bakri Musa

Excerpt # 87:  Bucking The Entrenched Trend

A few of us new Six Formers refused to submit to this culture of academic mediocrity now entrenched at Malay College. We resolved to defy this destructive anti-intellectual ambience, and do so not by pontificating but through our personal examples. We would show them that we were not at all embarrassed in studying hard, or “mugging.” We did not care less if we were to be branded as not being gifted. 

            Ramli related a conversation he overheard among the fifth-formers who were about to sit for their Sixth Form Entrance Examination, the ordeal Ramli and I went through a year earlier. Noting that their earlier schoolmates had managed to secure at best only Cs, they wondered whether there were any As and Bs given out. To them those were imaginary scores, unattainable. Ramli stunned them when he said that our old school, TMS, had produced many. 

            Part of our strategy was to study in the open, in libraries, our dorms, and at prep time regardless of the ridicule that would be hurled our way. We would not hide the fact that we were studious, or “nerdy” in today’s parlance. We promised to support each other when we felt that we were being mocked, and developed a strategy to rescue each other. Were someone to intrude, interfere, or in any way distract anyone of us, we would rescue him on the pretext of asking something related to our school work, anything that would interrupt and discourage the social chatter. I could not tell whether our “veteran” classmates noticed what we were up to, but it worked. We could study without being interrupted or teased. I must admit that there were times when I too wanted to take things easy.

            The college was capable of academic excellence. When J.D.R. Howell was headmaster (1953-58), he instituted and emphasized daily “prep” in the afternoons and evenings. That was the only time the college excelled. However, nobody subsequently made the crucial connection. That was the tragedy of Malay College. 

            The deteriorating academic standard concerned the teachers, as expected. It reflected on their professionalism. At that time I did not think they could do much beyond urging the students to “study hard.” Little did I know that the academic staff had initiated some radical changes! The setting up of the science stream at Form Four that year was one. There was another significant but more subtle initiative. Elucidating that requires some major digression, and I will put that aside for now. 

            Teachers at Malay College had duties beyond that of their colleagues at day schools. Through their other duties they interacted with and knew their students well and thus could influence them. Earlier I related Mr. Norton’s and Ryan’s critical roles in dissuading Noramly Muslim not to abandon his Sixth Form. My encounter with Mr. Chen during that expedition up Maxwell Hill was another example. The benefits of such encounters flowed both ways. 

            Once Mr. Brown was in a philosophical mood and did away with his didactic presentation. It was the first day of the second term; we had yet to settle down. He had spent that holiday, his first in Malaysia, on the east coast with the family of one of his students. That part of the country was the poorest; he must have been jarred by the appalling poverty. Indeed, boys from that part of the country were referred to as Patikans, ancient, as with Pithecanthropus (Java man), a term both endearing and contemptuous depending on the context. 

Brown started out rather benignly by asking us what we wanted to be. As usual, we were a modest lot for fear of being ridiculed. He asked Abu Hassan, and he replied – what else? – a teacher. 

“Really!” Brown was not at all pleased or flattered. Abu Hassan was the top student in mathematics. Brown again asked just to be sure, and again Abu wiggled his way out with his put-on modesty. Brown was at first incredulous and then he got mad; his face flushed, the blood vessels on his scalp throbbed. I thought they would explode. He asked another student, trying hard to suppress his rising voice and exasperation, and again the same modest aspiration. 

            He became even more agitated, pacing back and forth. At that point we thought it would be best for us to be honest. We were hoping that the next student would rescue us by aspiring higher, like being a professor. Nope, the same lowly goal, except this time being a civil servant, working for the government.

            On hearing that Brown exploded and hurled his chalk across the room. It whizzed by like a bullet to splatter on the back wall. We were stunned by this uncharacteristic physical display of fury. “Damn it!” he yelled. “Don’t you guys have any ambition?” 

            We all cowered down, afraid to look up. 

            “There’s no point my teaching you calculus,” he berated us, “if all you want to be is a teacher or civil servant.” He went on and on, pacing the floor. We still had twenty minutes of class to go. How are we going to endure if not contain this raging Canadian bull? He was livid. 

            “No wonder you people are backward,” he thundered. Wow, he was now hitting us low. “You’ll continue to be backward a hundred years hence. You don’t have any drive. No ambition!” His wild tirade went on and on, harsher and harsher. We were saved only by the bell. After he left, still in a rage, we regrouped. Hadi was the first to speak, suggesting that we should be honest with our teacher as he was trying to help us. Someone sneered and challenged Hadi what he would have said instead. 

            “I’d tell him I want to be a vet,” replied Hadi. “I’m not embarrassed. I’m telling you now.” 

            We all knew that, just like everyone knew that Nik and I both wanted to be doctors. At the end nothing was resolved. One thing was certain; we had enraged our favorite teacher and we did not know what to do.

Next:  Excerpt # 88:  Corralling A Raging Canadian Bull

Cast From The Herd Excerpt # 86: Stunting Young Malay Minds

 Cast From The Herd:  Memories of Matriarchal Malaysia

M. Bakri Musa

Excerpt # 86:  Stunting Young Malay Minds

This myopic intellectual outlook was expressed in other more profound and destructive ways. In September of my first year I was stunned that the top student in the Upper Six Science class would be leaving for further studies in England. Normally that would be a cause for celebration, except that he would be attending Brighton Technical College under the National Electricity Board (NEB) scholarship. Both Mr. Norton and Mr. Malhotra begged Ahmad Said not to abandon his Sixth Form. He was only a few months away from his Higher School Certificate examination, and from there he could go on to a “real” university instead of settling for a provincial British technical college. As Norton pointed out, Ahmad Said should instead aspire for MIT or Imperial College. He was diligent and intelligent. 

            Mr. Norton literally cried when he failed to dissuade Ahmad. In desperation, Norton then approached Abu Hassan and me to try and change Ahmad Said’s decision. Abu Hassan and Ahmad Said were both from Melaka and aspiring engineers. Why I too was included I did not know. Perhaps because Abu Hassan and I frequently studied together and behaved in atypical college style. Both of us, like Ahmad Said, joined the college at Lower Six. 

            Abu Hassan and I came out straight, telling Ahmad that he was being stupid. We were not the persuasive type, and that did not go well with him. He started to brag about how he was personally sought out by the head of the National Electricity Board (NEB), one Tan Sri Abu Zarim, and that he was invited on a special trip to Kuala Lumpur to meet this top honcho. We were not at all impressed and told Ahmad that. Apparently, the certainty of going abroad now and not a year later was too great a temptation for him. 

            A year later my classmate Mat Lias also fell for the same trap. He too aspired to be an engineer but did not take physics because he “could not stand Malhotra.” By taking the NEB scholarship, also to Brighton, Lias could achieve his dream and at the same time thumb his nose at Malhotra. 

            Malhotra was aware of that, and like Norton earlier with Ahmad Said, asked Abu Hassan, Mohammad Yusof, and me to dissuade Mat Lias. We were again unsuccessful, and devastated by his decision. What a waste of talent! 

            Ahmad Said’s classmate Noramly Muslim too was similarly tempted to abandon his Sixth Form. He was recruited to be among the first group of Malay Cadet Planters by the British-owned Golden Plantations. However, Norton and Headmaster Ryan refused to sign Noramly’s application, and Noramly’s aspiration was aborted. Imagine, it took two non-Malaysian expatriate teachers to save a smart young Malay from wasting his talent. Noramly did complete his Sixth Form and later excelled, obtaining an Australian PhD and becoming Dean of Science at the National University followed by being the first director of the Tun Ismail Atomic Research Center (PUSPATI).

            Later in the year I read NEB’s Annual Report. Its chairman, the same Abu Zarim, an “old boy” who also went to Brighton, bragged of his “successes” in recruiting bright young Malay boys like Ahmad Said and Mat Lias to go to Brighton. That was the prevailing intellectual milieu and academic culture at Malay College then where acceptance into a provincial British technical college was the highest academic aspiration. Few thought to aspire higher. As for Abu Zarim’s motive? Kickbacks from Brighton? Latent insecurity in seeing bright young Malays possibly exceeding him in achievements? That is, dimming future bright candles to ensure that yours would still be seen as dazzling? As for the latter, my heart breaks on seeing so many sparkling Malay minds being wasted at such campuses as Ulu Oklahoma State U. No wonder they have a warped impression of America.

            Ahmad Said’s tragedy did not end there. Two decades later he killed himself by jumping off LLN’s Tower (successor to the National Electricity Board).

            The irony does not escape me. Malhotra, Norton, and Ryan were non-Malays and foreigners to boot, yet they did more to nurture Malay talents. Abu Zarim on the other hand was a fellow native (he was from my state of Negri Sembilan) but he destroyed more Malay talents or made them underachievers, yet he was lauded with a Tan Sri. Malhotra’s later plea to me of “What’s wrong with your people?” again raising its ugly specter.

            Neither the irony nor the tragedy ended there. Fast forward to a decade and a half later, as a young surgeon in Malaysia I saw so many young Malay talents stunted in their professional development because they were seduced into accepting glorified administrative positions at the expense of their professional expertise.

            That is the microcosm of the so-called Malay problem. It was true then and much more so today, only the scale a quantum leap worse. Today Malay leaders think that they are helping the community by selling state land to their family members at deeply discounted prices as the Chief Minister of Terengganu did recently. Even when they sport engineering PhDs they are still dumb, or think the masses are dumb. Others are busy fighting such futile causes as wanting Penang to be returned to Kedah without thinking how would that help the rice farmers in Kubang Pasu.

Next:  Excerpt # 87:  Bucking The Entrenched Trend

Cast From The Herd: Excerpt # 85: No Eton of the East

 Cast From The Herd:  Memories of Matriarchal Malaysia

M. Bakri Musa

Excerpt # 85: No Eton Of The East

By late February of my first year at Malay College the results of the Higher School Certificate (HSC) examination held the previous November for the just-graduated Upper Six class (1960) were released. They were appalling; more than half of the class did not secure their full certificate because they failed the critical General Paper. I was shocked. Here was the country’s premier school that took in the best young Malay minds, yet the aggregate results were atrocious. 

            That worried me. I had worked so hard to be in Sixth Form and gone through the foolish disciplinary problem in the last quarter of my Fifth Form because I was bored. I was not about to let the chance of furthering my studies slip by me now. Whatever those College boys ahead of me were doing, I was determined not to follow in their disastrous footsteps. 

            A month later the results of the Cambridge School Certificate (CSC) Examination (taken at Form Five) that we sat for during the previous November were released. This time the college did better. A few from that class like Atan Aziz and Ismail Hamzah who did not pass their Sixth Form Entrance Examination but did well in their CSC were invited to join us in Lower Six. My old TMS class also did well. I scored Grade One, as did eleven of my former classmates. We exceeded the performance of the previous year’s class, the one that our physics teacher Mr. Pritam pronounced to be the brightest to have passed through the school. So much for his assessment! 

            My old TMS produced as many first graders as Malay College. While I was proud of my old school, I thought the college’s performance was underwhelming. That combined with the disastrous HSC results announced a month earlier made me nervous of putting my future with this “school of kings, king of schools.” The results mocked its “Eton of the East” moniker. I questioned my earlier decision to come to Kuala Kangsar. I had mistaken the glint of a pebble for the sparkle of a diamond. I should have stuck with the de facto decision to continue my Sixth Form at KGV Seremban. Without the prestige I knew I would have to work hard there to excel. Now that I was at supposedly ‘elite’ Malay College, I was in danger of succumbing to its culture of mediocrity. 

            A few of my new fellow Sixth Formers, Yusof Sidek, my tennis partner, Abu Hassan Nikmat from Malacca, and Ramli, shared my anxiety. All of us except for Abu aspired to be doctors. He was a budding engineer; he was brilliant in mathematics. We committed ourselves to avoid the fate of those before us, of being slaughtered come examination time. We were determined to buck the trend. 

            Ramli crystallized the problem well. Malay College boys had been praised once too often, and that had gotten to their heads. They had been told – and way too often – by their parents, teachers, girlfriends, and everyone else that they were the crème de la crème, the best that the Malay race could produce. Thus they need not prove themselves anymore. Getting into Malay College was the pinnacle of their achievement. There was nothing else to prove beyond that. If they did not succeed in any subsequent academic or other endeavor, then the fault must not be with them. 

            Studying hard or in any way exerting intellectual effort was for those less gifted. To be fair, this affliction was not unique to Malay College. This was the early sixties. In America, the Ivy League was still the preserve of children of the WASP (White Anglo Saxon Protestant) elite where a gentleman’s C was the aspired grade. Forgive my pretension in comparing Malay College to the Ivy League. 

            Over time a pernicious culture developed. Studying and other intellectual strivings were seen not as exemplary rather the contrary. If you were really smart you did not have to study. That was the prevailing mindset. The idolized character was the fella who scored all As without seemingly putting any effort. The operative word there is “seemingly.” That bred some bizarre behaviors. Once I woke up late at night to go to the bathroom and was surprised to see those boys surreptitiously studying in the stalls just to protect their image of not being a “mugger.” Pathetic! 

            It was significant that the top student in the Arts stream at Malay College at that time who would have been joining us at Sixth Form that year instead opted to leave in favor of doing it at Victoria Institution, Kuala Lumpur. The year after that when I was in Upper Sixth two other top students in Form Five also opted to leave the college to pursue their Sixth Form elsewhere.

            Within a decade of my leaving Malay College in 1962, now under local leadership, it decided to give up its Sixth Form entirely, satisfied with its status as a glorified Middle School. Beyond that, it dropped its emphasis on STEM. In 2011 after decades of planning, it resurrected its Sixth Form under the International Baccalaureate Program. In its initial few years (or even today) Malay College had difficulty filling the slots with its own students, reminiscent of my Sixth Form days there in the early 1960s.

Next:  Excerpt # 86:  Stunted Malay Minds