Cast From The Herd: Memories of Matriarchal Malaysia
M. Bakri Musa
Excerpt # 99: Meeting A Polished Canadian Diplomat
By February that year (1963), the Higher School Certificate examination results were released. I passed, but Malay College’s aggregate performance was again disastrous. As with the year before, nearly half of my classmates failed to secure a full certificate, the culprit again being the notorious General Paper. Remember the soporific Mr. Tan? No further explanation needed! However in Malaysia, as my parents reminded me earlier and often, the teachers and system were never at fault, only that the students were not diligent enough.
Nonetheless the ugly reality remains. The curse of a less-than-diligent teacher goes far and deep. Mr. Tan dashed the hopes of so many of my promising classmates. That burden was borne not only by them but also their families, present and future. I would also add, the community.
As a physician I am aware that if I were to perform at less-than-my-best, the impact would be felt only by my patients and their families. Not so with a teacher or leader. The curse of a less-than-diligent leader would be borne by the entire nation, and for generations. Likewise, the damage inflicted by a derelict and incompetent teacher goes far beyond his or her classroom.
On the flip side, the best that even the most competent physician could do would be to bring her patients back to their pre-illness status, nothing beyond. For an imaginative and inspiring teacher however, there is no limit to the potential achievements of her students once she has ignited their passion for learning. Never underestimate the power, for good and bad, of a teacher.
In the meantime I was busy preparing for my departure to Canada. I had received from the university a thick package. After going through them I felt that I knew the place. I visited the Canadian High Commission in Kuala Lumpur for my visa. When I told the receptionist that I would be attending the University of Alberta, she led me in to meet one of the officers who would be leaving the service soon to return to that university. That was how I first met Ivan Head. He was the Third Secretary, the junior-most professional position at the embassy.
Seeing that he was so young looking, I asked him what he would be taking, thinking that he would be pursuing graduate work. He smiled and said that he would be joining the Law School faculty. Oops! I was face to face with a soon-to-be Professor of Law! Before I could be embarrassed, he was already taking over the conversation. He updated me on the university, assuring me that its medical school was well regarded. Being an alumnus, he was able to tell me a lot more, as with the campus being in the midst of a massive expansion to accommodate the baby-boom generation.
As I sat there now at ease, the thought struck me that this gentleman right across from me would be a Professor, and of Law at that, while I would be but a lowly freshman come that September. He shattered all the stereotypes I had of professors being aloof and imperious.
On his desk I saw clippings of Malaysian newspapers. I felt guilty snooping but he showed me his work as Third Secretary. Apart from processing visa applications and answering questions from interested visitors like me, he read what was written in the local media about Canada.
I commented that the Canadian Foreign Service must be very competitive to have a law professor as its Third Secretary. Ivan Head laughed. He related that he had enjoyed his assignment in Malaysia and indicated that he did not intend to make the Foreign Service his career. His first love was academia. He had picked Malaysia as his first and only choice; had he not been posted there, he would have stayed in academia. I did not know whether that was the polished diplomat in him speaking or a genuine expression of his love for my country.
Encouraged by his lack of formality, I asked him whether I should buy warm clothing in Malaysia or wait till I arrived in Canada. He advised me to wait as whatever I could buy locally would not be warm enough. That sent a chill through me. Besides, there was the matter of style. “That is important for a young man,” he added, with a twinkle in his eye.
In that brief visit I knew a little bit about this impressive diplomat, something more of the university, and a lot about Canada. In addition, I learned what a junior diplomat’s work entailed. Quite an education, all in less than half an hour! Ivan Head was the second Canadian I had met; the first being my math teacher earlier, Mr. Brown. I was favorably disposed to both. Good omen!
Later that fall in between classes at the University of Alberta, I dropped by the Law Faculty then located in the old Arts Building to look up Professor Head. I found him in his office eating his home-made sandwich. Beside him was a metal lunch pail, the type carried by construction workers. He welcomed me and profusely apologized for being unable to share his sandwich as it had ham. Instead I accepted his apple after he offered it for the third time. There he was thousands of miles away from Malaysia and still remembering the common Malaysian courtesies, as his offering me the apple three times.
Professor Head became the faculty advisor to the Malaysian Students Association on campus. He and his wife Ann entertained us often at their home. I also found out a lot more about him. He was a star track athlete and had excelled as an undergraduate as well as in law school, before going to Harvard for his LLM. His particular expertise was the law of the sea, with emphasis on the Canadian Arctic. His seemingly arcane specialty would later be at the center stage of international affairs, with the possibility of a north-west passage.
Not long after, he became principal adviser to Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau, Canada’s Kissinger as the press dubbed him. I crossed paths with him again at the Banff Springs Hotel. His first comment on seeing me was to inquire about developments in Malaysia. Here was a key advisor to the Canadian Prime Minister with a special interest in Malaysia. I wondered whether the Malaysian ambassador in Ottawa was taking full advantage of that fact.
My last official business before leaving Malaysia was a briefing from a certain Mrs. McCoy, the “Principal Establishment Officer.” From her name I thought she was a leftover colonial officer who had missed out on her golden handshake, or one who had gone native. Imagine my shock to find a smallish Indian lady clad in a bright flowing saree with her black shiny hair pulled back severely in a tight bun.
“So you figure yourself pretty smart to get this scholarship?” She chided me. “If you are not careful you could end up like the rest of them; having too much fun and flunking out.” She was a more threatening school mistress, less a helpful public servant.
Who was she to lecture me? She did not even know me. The nerve of her! Only the knowledge that she was in charge of my scholarship made me listen meekly and endure her bullying. That only encouraged her; she went on and on.
At last I was let out, but not before she blasted out a final barrage. “Come back with only the certificate issued by your university,” she snarled. “Don’t bring home marriage and birth certificates!”
That was it. No goodbyes or good wishes. If she had meant her last statement to be a joke, I missed it. I could not help comparing this experience to my earlier one with Ivan Head. And the Canadian government, not Malaysian, would be funding my studies.
People judge others as they would themselves. Mrs. McCoy thought others were like her, irresponsible and not diligent; hence her treating me that way. Ivan Head on the other hand was smart and conscientious; he believed others too were like him, and he treated them likewise.
Next: Excerpt # 100: Back for the Third School Term
