Back To The Status Quo - Only More Dangerous

 Back To The Status Quo – Only More Dangerous

M. Bakri  Musa

 

August 13, 2023

 

Yesterday’s (August 12, 2023) six state elections confirmed what had been suspected and feared all along. That is, Malays are now deeply and dangerously polarized. This was gleaned earlier from reviewing last November 2022 15^th General Election. While the just-completed elections did not change any state government, with last November’s election Pakatan Harapan’s victory in May 2018 was repeated. However, that was prematurely aborted by the conniving Mahathir Mohamad. 

 

            Then the young inexperienced Pakatan leaders had a misplaced and unwarranted trust in the old man. They naively believed his claim that he was instrumental in toppling Najib Razak. They forgot that it was Mahathir who was responsible for Najib’s fast rise in politics in the first place. As could be anticipated, the ever-scheming Mahathir, together with his backdoor or backside accomplices Muhyiddin Yassin and Azmin Ali, ended Pakatan’s short-lived government. The pair is rightly cursed as pengkhianat negara (national traitors). I would add that description to Mahathir.

 

            These last six state elections also revealed a hitherto ignored but disturbing development – the rise of the Islamists and Ketuanan Melayu nationalists (Malay supremacists). If Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim, a leader with unchallenged Islamic and nationalist credentials, could not make any inroads against them despite his recent vigorous and untiring campaign, then no one could.

 

            As such it is time for him and others who share his vision of a peaceful, prosperous, and inclusive Malaysia to change tack, and do so dramatically, radically, and in no uncertain terms. The threat posed by these Islamists and nationalists is more ominous than that by the communists after the war.

 

            In my book Towards A Competitive Malaysia (2007) I wrote that Malaysia remained unique for having defeated the communists, more so as she did it without any foreign military aid. Meanwhile in nearby South Vietnam, the Americans with their greatest economy, mightiest military, and their ‘best and brightest’ could not prevail against the pajama-clad Viet Cong.

 

            While McNamara was consumed with his infamous “body counts,” the Malaysian effort, led by the brilliant strategist Major-General Mahmud Sulaiman, opted for the very opposite tactic. He gave these communist guerillas every chance to surrender and escape from being killed. He saw immense propaganda value in having them alive, repentant, and leading productive lives. He analogized the war against the terrorists to exterminating rats. Killing and poisoning them would not work as those rodents could multiply faster. Besides, those poisons could backfire on the innocent. Instead, Mahmud addressed the root causes of communism – eliminating poverty, better education, and most of all assuring and promising them a peaceful productive life out of the fetid Malaysian jungle.

 

            Prime Minister Anwar must adopt a similar counterintuitive strategy. Strip these disruptive and destructive Islamists and nationalists of the self-styled characterizations as defenders of Islam and pejuang bangsa (champions of the race). Expose their vacuity and lack of constructive ideas. Islam needs no defenders, least of all from these scoundrels.

 

            Anwar had correctly begun by arresting corrupt leaders. Go further and much more aggressively. Recruit accomplished foreign prosecutors and investigators. Then, and most of all address the grouses of these latter-day pejuang bangsa dan agama, in particular their plaintive cry on their current pathetic state that mocks their claim of Malaysia being ‘Tanah Air ku.’ I agree with their lament but alas disagree profoundly as to the needed remedies.

 

            With the Islamists, Anwar should distance himself from the likes of the Indonesian Abdul Somad as well as the less virulent but no less destructive local variants found at such places as ISTAC and local public campuses. Instead, invite the likes of the Harvard-trained Ulil Abdulla and the New York-based Syamsul Ali. Singapore wisely banned this Somad charlatan from entering the Republic. Likewise with those Malay intellectuals in Majlis Professor Negara; instead invite successful Malay entrepreneurs, professionals, and scientists to Sri Perdana. That would at least inspire the young. My late father had an apt expression on our current practice of honoring the corrupt and the losers:  membajakan lallang (fertilizing the weeds).

 

            The greatest contributor to the lack of Malay competitiveness and thus our current blighted condition is, apart from corruption, the education system. Revamp the national curriculum to make all Malaysians fluently bilingual (Malay and English), literate in the sciences, and competent in mathematics. Get rid of JAKIM and other religious bodies. Use the funds saved to build libraries and laboratories in national schools and recruit well-trained teachers. Stop sending our students to mediocre foreign universities.

 

            Anwar does not need to be reminded that in the 1986 national election, a few years after he joined UMNO, the Islamic Party won only one out of the 177 parliamentary seats. He did it then, and he could it do again, this time out of UMNO. That is, to beat the Islamists and Malay nationalists, Anwar’s top priority must be to make Malays competitive so we could be respected in Tanah Air Ku, and to be worthy of Hang Tuah’s immortal exhortation:  Takkan Melayu Hilang Di Dunia! (We will never be lost in this world!)

On Rating Khutba

 On Rating Khutbas

M. Bakri Musa

 

August 8, 2023

 

In his recent Friday (August 4, 2023) khutba (sermon) in Morgan Hill, California, our Imam Ilyas Anwar commented on the current and fast-spreading practice of rating khutbas. We are all familiar with the rating of lectures and professors, now the norm on American campuses, with the results scrutinized not just by would-be students but more importantly, faculty review committees.

 

            In my profession such evaluations are standard practice. To secure one’s Continuing Medical Education (CME) certificates one has to complete those evaluations. Among the questions asked are whether the speaker had fully disclosed all possible conflicts of interests (monetary as well as professional, as being paid for or employed by a drug company), and how effective was the presentation, and the extent that it would improve one’s current practice and understanding of the subject matter. 

 

            It would be illuminating if we were to apply this practice to Malaysian ulama and religious scholars. Imagine if they were to begin thus:  “Assalamualliakum! I am Hadi Awang, leader of the opposition Islamic Party PAS and recipient of funds from 1MDB!” Or, “I am Mufti Albakri and I am paid fulltime by the Muhyiddin Administration.” Yet another, “I am Dr. Abu Bakar and I am well compensated by Citibank to certify its banking products as Islamic and meeting maqasid syariah.” That would certainly help their listeners’ clarify the speakers’ perspectives and then judge their presentations accordingly.

 

            As for rating khutbas, Imam Ilyas had this to say. The khutba is an integral part of the Friday congregational zuhur (noon) prayer. The regular zuhur prayer has four raka’at (or units) but the Friday congregational prayer is truncated to only two, with the khutba given before the prayer proper being in lieu of the first two raka’ats.

 

            Thus the khutba being part of the prayer, the essence then becomes how does one evaluate the impact or value of a prayer? With lectures, listeners’ evaluations are appropriate, and those valuations could be useful to potential advertisers and sponsors. Or in the case with Malaysian Youtube ulama and lecturers (as well as Christian television evangelists), donations from their listeners.

 

            Evaluating a sermon could be seen as that of a prayer, with the focus shifting to the listener or “prayee,” the one performing the prayer. As with my CME courses, the pertinent question should be how does the sermon impact us as listeners, and how would we then be changed in our approach to solving our problems of daily living or dealing with our fellow human beings.

 

            Thus when the khatib quotes a particular Qur’anic ayat, that should prompt us to ponder such questions as when, where, and under what circumstances was it revealed. The ensuing enquiry should also lead us to extrapolate the ayat’s relevance to our current challenges and everyday lives. In what ways are our current conditions similar to those existing during the Prophet’s time and in what way are they different? If the former, then the ayat could be directly applicable. If not, then we would have to use our akal and treat that ayatas being only metaphorical or illustrative, and then expend our intellectual efforts to use the ayat only as the basis (qiyas) and not precedential. Ancient scholars did precisely that; blind imitators or literal followers they were not. Hence their often vigorous differences in views as illustrated by Imam Al Ghazzali’s excoriating criticisms of Ibn Sina.

 

            Likewise when an ahadith is quoted; we should reflect on the comparable situation today where that ahadith would be most appropriate. If none and instead we are facing a very different challenge unique to our time or circumstance, then ponder what our wise Prophet, s.a.w., would have counselled his followers in such comparable situations, akin to the Christians’ asking “What would Jesus do or say today?”

 

            Far too often when our ulama quote a hadith, they are consumed with displaying their flawless memories, erudite Arabic, and rhetorical flourishes. Why not just tell us the approximate translations, and thus meanings of those hadith using contemporary language and idiom? These ulama also waste precious listeners’ time on such futile discussions as to the “sahihness” (authenticity) of the hadith including a long list of their supposed narrators as if what the Prophet, s.a.w., uttered over a millennium and half ago could be determined with certainty today. Quit quibbling about that; focus on the purported purpose and needed lessons that could be derived from those hadith. Grasp the essence.

 

            The khutba should be the beginning or stimulus for one’s subsequent journey of enquiry. Treated as such we would less likely to fall asleep during the sermon and apt to pay more attention as well as stimulate us to pursue the topic further.

 

            Consider the so-called “Sword Verse” (9:5) revealed soon after the Prophet’s migration to Medinah and was striving to build the first Muslim community in an already well-established plural one that remained hostile and threatening to him and the new faith, “. . . [T]hen fight the pagans wherever ye find them, and seize and beleaguer them . . . .” Compare that ayat to the earlier Meccan one, 2:256:  “Let there be no compulsion in religion.” Such contrast if not outright contradiction! The former commands us not to turn the other cheek when someone threatens to decapitate you; the latter, to be more tolerant and inclusive.

 

            Ancient scholars used the concept of abrogation to reconcile such differences, as with later Medinah verses “abrogating” earlier Meccan ones. Though well-established and accepted, such an approach would not comport with our concept of Allah as All-Knowing and All-Perfect. Allah does not need any subsequent “editing” of His revelations!

 

            More fruitful would be to ponder why Allah would reveal such seemingly contradictory messages. Since Allah is All-Wise and All-Perfect, such discrepancies must be apparent, not real. It is for us to use our akal(intellect and power of reasoning) endowed by Him to us to discern those differences. That would be much more fruitful than merely and mindlessly reciting an ayat or hadith. Granted, when a Qur’anic verse is recited beautifully with faithful rendition of its exquisite tajweed, that can bring tears of joy and exaltation to believers, akin to a well-executed aria to opera goers.

 

            By all means rate a sermon but do so on its impact on us. It should lead us to better ourselves, for that indeed is Allah’s command.

Cast From The Herd Excerpt # 90: A Prefect De-Badged

 Cast From The Herd:  Memories of Matriarchal Malaysia

M. Bakri Musa

Excerpt # 90:  A Prefect De-Badged

To say that I was proud to be made a prefect at Malay College would be a severe understatement. That notwithstanding, I was not overwhelmed as I was very much aware of the awesome responsibilities that had been laid upon me, in particular the statement my teachers and Mr. Ryan were making in appointing me. Apart from rewarding me, they also made clear that the college was now headed in a different direction, towards valuing academic achievements. That was the heavy burden I felt, and uncomfortable to bear.

            Of the new Sixth Formers who were former head prefects in their previous schools, only Wan Aziz was skipped. He took it in stride. He reminded us of the incident early in the year with Dr. Ahmad. You could not become a prefect without his blessing. 

            As for the awesome responsibilities of being a prefect, that point was made clear earlier in the year. There was a major crisis brewing in the Sixth Form dorm. To me it was over a frivolous issue, about increasing the visibility of Malay language and culture. This belated nationalism was inspired with the arrival in 1961 of the first Malay graduate teacher from the University of Malaya, Abdul Rahman Arshad. Before that all the graduate teachers (meaning those with degrees) were foreigners or non-Malay Malaysians. In truth however, Rahman Arshad was not the first Malay graduate teacher at the college. He was preceded a few months earlier by another Malay, a London University graduate, also like Rahman, from Melaka, but he lasted barely a few months before resigning. Being the first Malay graduate and senior teacher, there was some reflected glory amongst us with Arshad, more so with those in the Arts stream, less so among the science students. He ignited the students’ belated and hitherto latent nationalism.

            My impression of Arshad however, was less favorable. In one talk when he with great flourish berated the college for hanging on to its British colonial symbols, I asked him whether there was not a thing or two that we could learn from a culture that had created an empire where the sun never set. He was unimpressed with my query and dismissed my ignorance. However, as one of the few Malay graduates who had opted to enter the education service instead of the usual administrative one, Arshad rose fast and far. As a teacher at Malay College however, he was very much unlike Mr. Brown. Brown used to wander around to the dorm he was supervising in the afternoon to chat with his students. Rahman Arshad however maintained his faculty status; he was aloof and kept his social distance after teaching hours. I had saw him at the Sixth Form dorm chatting with us.

            Malay College was a late comer to nationalism. After all the colonials created it to be a tropical version of a proper British grammar school, complete with its own fancy crest and pretentious Latin motto, Fiat Sapienta Virtus. 

            The official translation is, “Let manliness come through wisdom!” My preference is: “Let there be wisdom [and] courage.” Only Plato’s third virtue, moderation, is skipped. Wisdom without the courage to express it is like a tree falling in the jungle. The impact may be earth shattering and bring forth a swath of bright light, but with nobody knowing, it would make no difference. Courage without wisdom on the other hand is that of a wild boar – destructive, or as the villagers put it, gila babi (lit. mad boar). 

            For a long time Malay College students prided themselves in being cultured Brown Sahibs. Now with independence a reality, they were keen to demonstrate their belated nationalist manhood. Affected British accent and silky cravat were out, replaced by the peasant Kelantan patikan dialect and formless baju Melayu. For the nation, Malay language would now reign supreme, with the government mandating it to be the exclusive working language. There were “National Language Days” and later, “Weeks,” and “Months,” with rallies, speeches, and essay contests to mark the occasion. 

            To many, those were joyous occasions, time to be excused from their boring classes. To me however, those were precious times fritted away. In the dorms nationalism was now a hot issue. As my views were contrary to those prevailing, I often and eagerly participated in those passionate debates. We could never come to any common ground and ended up belittling each other. They dismissed me as either ignorant of history (a convenient accusation as being a science student I no longer had to take the subject) or being brainwashed by the colonialists. Others were less generous, condemning me as a colonial-lover or an aspiring brown Mat Salleh, epithet for the English. 

            I too had my own pet put-downs. If they thought that Malay College was a colonial institution, or that learning English was a subtle means of colonizing native minds, then they should leave to attend the local Malay schools instead. That shut them up. 

            Back to the crisis, those students had given Ryan an ultimatum. Make Malay College more Malay or they would pack their bags and leave, thinking that a group of children of the elite abandoning the institution would force his hand. Ryan however, called their bluff; they “lost face,” a major embarrassment in our culture. For my part, I had minimal sympathy for those dorm rebels with a tiny cause. 

            The matter did not end there. Ryan would later make their ringleader a prefect in a special appointment to replace the departing Ahmad Said. Co-opting your opposition by appealing to its leader’s vanity, a tried and true trick the British had perfected to a fine art. It was no accident that those Malay sultans had fancy titles like “Sir.” 

            That appointment soon created tension between the leader and his hitherto followers that resulted in his abusing his prefectorial powers to get even with them. There were other factors; these things were never simple and often proved to be other than what they appeared to be, but the end result was that soon after, this new prefect was stripped of his badge. The ‘ceremony’ took place during the regular assembly, witnessed by the entire school. A tribute to the “de-badged” prefect, he maintained his dignity throughout the whole and very public humiliating ordeal. 

            That was the only occasion in the history of Malay College when a prefect had been stripped of his badge. As for that individual, he was the same tin-pot dictator who had “welcomed” me to Malay College at the train station earlier that January in his distinctive Kelantanese Malay-English dialect. He later graduated from an Australian university on a Colombo Plan scholarship and then Cambridge for his doctoral work, his earlier strident nationalism notwithstanding. It also reflected the integrity and impartiality of Ryan and the other teachers that the “de-badging” notwithstanding, this student’s academic future was unaffected. He could not have gotten the scholarship without Ryan’s blessing and recommendation.

            Images of that “de-badging” weighed heavily on me, tempering my joy in getting the honor of being a prefect at Malay College. 

Next:  Excerpt #91:  A New Breed of Malay College Students

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