Cast From the Herd Excerpt # 95: So You Want to be a Doctor

 Cast From The Herd:  Memories of Matriarchal Malaysia

M. Bakri Musa

Excerpt # 95:  So You Want To Be A Doctor!

When I returned from the break in the morning’s interview session, and following my grandfather’s advice, I sneaked a small twig into my right palm. Soon I was called in. There were four interviewers, including a stern-looking Indian lady. The chairman, I presumed, was an old Malay man with curly backswept hair and generously streaked with gray. He was still smacking his lips savoring the lingering sweet aftertaste of the teh tarik (sweetened tea with cream) he had during the break. They were all busy flipping through their files. I tried to maintain eye contact but had difficulty as they were all looking down. Soon the chairman cleared his throat and everyone stared at me. I looked at each one of them and silently recited my grandfather’s du’a. Then I unobtrusively snapped the twig in my palm, and with that I felt a sudden surge of confidence. 

            “Are you Mohammad Bakri Bin Musa?” intoned the chairman. 

            “Yes, sir!” That was it. No introduction, no good morning, no pleasantries to settle me down. Right to the point; good! 

            “What do you plan to take at university?”

            “I want to be a doctor, sir!”

            “I said, ‘What do you plan to take.’ Listen to the question.”

            “Oh, medicine, sir!” was my calm reply. Even I was surprised to have such composure despite the initial goof.

            “Why do you want to be a doctor?” he continued.

            I related how exciting life would be as a physician. Your days would not be predictable; on certain days you would be jubilant because you made the right diagnosis and helped someone, on other days less so. You might even be disappointed with your misdiagnosis or failed treatment. 

            “Very interesting,” he observed. “Unlike what we do here where every day is the same,” he laughed, and his fellow panelists smiled. “Do you have a doctor in your family?” 

            “No sir!”

            “Then how do you know these things?”

            I described the annual career days at our college. I remembered hearing one Dr. Khalid Sahan, an “old boy” who was then stationed at Kuala Kangsar, describing his typical day. 

            “You actually paid attention?” the chairman mocked me. 

            I was afraid he would ask about other doctors who had influenced me. I knew of no one else, but he did not. Then he passed me over to his fellow panelists. Just before that the severe-looking Indian lady removed a letter from her file. I recognized the letterhead crest. She seemed to approve of its content. There was a moment of silence as the others digested it, giving me an opportunity to read their facial expressions. 

            That must be the letter from Mr. Norton that my classmates were talking about earlier. I just hoped that the prefect who sneaked a look had read it right. 

            As the other panelists composed themselves, each began quizzing me. They must have asked inconsequential questions as I do not remember my replies. When they dismissed me, I left feeling confident. While I did not swagger out, nonetheless I felt like a brash young commander who had prevailed with minimal difficulty over formidable enemy territory. 

            Later at lunch we, my fellow college mates and I, were as usual going over our earlier battles, trading wartime stories. They were surprised that I was not asked specific questions on medicine. Ramli whispered his intuition, “Bakri, you got it!” 

            Looking back, I wonder what would have happened had the chairman extended his hand for a handshake. How on earth would I have explained the twig in my palm? 

Next:  Excerpt 96:  Anxiously Waiting For The Big Envelope

Casr From The Herd Excerpt # 94: The Twig

 Cast From The Herd:  Memories of Matriarchal Malaysia

M. Bakri Musa

Excerpt # 94:  The Twig

In August, we Upper-Six Formers had to sit for the university scholarship examination. Unlike other tests, the scores would not be released. You would know how well you did from the quality of the scholarship you would be awarded, or not awarded. By October, the letters for the scholarship interviews began arriving, with aspiring engineers to be interviewed one week and future doctors, another. 

            The week before the interview a rumor began swirling around. The clerk who typed those letters of recommendation from the teachers had left one unsecured on his desk overnight, and the prefect who entered the office had an accidental peek. It was Mr. Norton’s letter of recommendation on me. I was embarrassed when the purported content was related. Not that I was displeased, but the effusive praise made me uncomfortable. Nazuddin however, complimented me, assuring me that Norton carried considerable weight in Kuala Lumpur. That was all I needed; flattery to distract me just before an important interview. Lay on the burden! 

            To avoid taking too much time off seeing that we were in the critical final term, my would-be doctor classmates and I took the late afternoon train to arrive in Kuala Lumpur early the next morning in time for the interview. We would then return the same afternoon to arrive back by late evening. 

            The interview was at the Public Service Commission’s office up on the hill at Jalan Young, not far from the train station. After freshening ourselves up at the station and having breakfast at the mamak (Indian) stall, we strolled up the hill. The city was still empty and the air, cool. The rising sun had yet to warm it. We arrived just as the office was opening. 

            The complex was a former British army base and comprised a series of Quonset huts connected by covered walkways. When the British troops left, the complex became a major government office. The Prime Minister at the time, Tunku Abdul Rahman, unlike his later successors, was not one to splurge on ostentatious buildings for his civil servants. He would rather spend the money on schools and scholarships. The only concession to modernity was the wall air-conditioner units. They were already humming full blast that brisk morning. Those local officers must have missed the English weather of their student days. 

            The waiting room had a stiff, subdued air of formality, with individual wooden chairs. I was seventh in line for the interview but the first after the mid-morning break. The four of us from Kuala Kangsar were the first to arrive. Soon others trickled in. Judging from how fresh they looked, they must be from local schools. 

            Ramli whispered, “We have tough competition!” 

            I agreed, which triggered the hitherto quiet butterflies in my stomach although I had fortified myself psychologically for this interview. Sometime in the past my grandfather had taught me some pointers. He reminded me to always remember that my interviewers were also humans and that after they had done questioning me they would go home and face all the mundane problems of ordinary mortals; their kids quarrelling and spouses arguing, among others. So do not be intimidated by them. 

            He instructed me on some petua (rituals). On entering the room I should have in my closed right palm a small twig, and to make eye contact with each interviewer. Then I was to recite a verse from the Holy QurK’an which, approximately translated, states that we are all children of Adam and that there is a greater power up there governing us all. Then I should surreptitiously snap the twig, symbolizing my ‘breaking’ the interviewers’ power over me. From then on I would be unafraid of and effectively control the interview, my grandfather assured me. 

            During the break my three classmates who had been interviewed earlier that morning related their ordeals. Yusof Sidek was angry because they asked him to cite examples of medicinally-important plants. Another was asked about malaria. That surprised me as I thought the interview was to get to know us as a person, not to gauge our scientific knowledge. That was already tested in the examination. In preparing for this interview, all I did was review general topics like why I wanted to be a doctor. Knowing what Yusof Sidek and the others had been through only made me even more nervous. 

Next:  Excerpt # 95:  So You Want To Be A Doctor!

Use Imam Nawawi's Forty Hadith To Sharpen Young Mins

 Use Imam Nawawi’s Forty Hadith To Sharpen Young Minds

M. Bakri Musa

 

Properly conducted, we all can learn from Imam Nawawi’s collection of forty (in actuality 42) hadith (sayings attributed to Prophet Muhammad, may peace and blessings be upon Him). The operative phrase is “properly conducted.” As for restricting it only to Muslims, well, as a believer I have learned much from reading about Socrates, an avowed atheist.

 

            The tragedy for Muslims is that the teaching of hadith at all (including graduate) levels is a one-way street, reminiscent of the Catholics’ catechism. Less education, more indoctrination; little learning, a whole lot of listening. Mufti Albakri’s recent 50-minute lecture on Nawawi’s first hadith (Actions be judged by intentions) was typical. He spent over 40 minutes reciting the hadith’s long chain of narrators as well as its various equally tedious iterations, all in their original Arabic. This was after his droning endless praise of the author. Albakri was less to educate, more to impress listeners with his prodigious memory, flawless Arabic, and (to him) mesmerizing oratory. There was not a word on the hadith’s relevance to everyday life or its connection with the Qur’an. It was all an endless recitation and regurgitation of factoids, no critical analysis. That would be blasphemy. Alas, this is the norm.

 

            Likewise with the many translations of Imam Nawawi’s book. The latest (2023, by Faisal Ahmad Shah) is so formulaic, like the translation of a book of recipes, with the same long mini biographies of the various narrators. No prompts for readers to think. Must all actions have intentions? What about unintended consequences? How sure are we of our intentions?

 

            The Ministry of Education’s proposed “study module” on Nawawi’s Forty Hadith would degenerate along similar mind-numbing patterns. What a shame as both hadith and Qur’an are great resources for exercises in critical thinking, quite apart from lessons and inspirations to lead a purposeful life.

 

            In my book Qur’an, Hadith, And Hikayat:  Exercises In Critical Thinking (2021) I chose a familiar hadith:  Seek knowledge even if you have to go to China. Zimbabwe’s Imam Ismail Menk discussed this particular hadith for over three hours to a packed audience in Kuala Lumpur many years ago. He dismissed the second part of the hadith (going to China) as not sahih (authentic) as the Prophet (pbuh) could not possibly have heard of China any more than he could Kuala Lumpur.

 

            Contrast Menk to one young Indonesian girl, Bina Izzatu Dini. She was intrigued by that hadith. After all, everything is made in China these days, from the sejadah (praying mat) to models of the Kaabah. So she decided to explore that hadith. Indeed the prophet, being a merchant, must have heard of China as the ancient Silk Route passed through the northern part of the Arabian Peninsula. The upshot of Bina’s curiosity was that her essay won her a scholarship to a Chinese university! I do not know what her intentions were in pursuing that hadith, but she was amply rewarded for that. And she did not have to wait till the Hereafter!

 

            I once attended as a guest the Masters of Islamic Studies seminar at the University of Malaya. I was attracted by the credentials of the lecturer, a PhD from a leading American university. That program was also popular with ambitious young Malay civil servants out to burnish their Islamic credentials, thus greasing their career paths. Halfway through his presentation, the esteemed professor said something ridiculous that prompted me to ask a question. Instead of addressing my query, he brushed me aside.

 

            My friend apologized on behalf of his professor. There was so much material to cover that he (the professor) did not have time to answer questions, was the excuse. Obviously the professor was not an educator; more a postman.

 

            Contrast that to the experience of retired Duke Professor of Islamic Studies, Bruce Lawrence. Though not a Muslim his course was popular with students from the Third World needing to fulfil their humanities prerequisites. He was astounded when one of his students who despite being a hafiz (one who had memorized the Qur’an) could not understand a word of it. In the ensuing discussion Lawrence learned much about the Pakistani education system, demonstrating the truism that teaching is the best way to learn.

 

            Malay teachers regard their students as bins to be filled with dogmas, akin to Paulo Freire’s bank account model. You get only what you put in, minus fees with the latter and what’s stuck at the bottom with the former. Why not heed the wisdom of Munshi Abdullah? He likened a child’s mind to a parang, to be sharpened. With a sharp parang you could hack your way out of a jungle. To a surgeon, a sharp knife is an instrument to cure cancer; to a thug, a killing kit. Differentiating the two is the Islam part of Islamic education.

 

            By all means, teach Imam Nawawi’s Forty Hadith to sharpen students’ critical faculties, not numb their minds. As for perspective as well as priority, including hadith in the school curriculum should be far below that of English and Chemistry. Instead, do it as an extracurricular activity.

Casr From The Herd Excerpt # 93: Annual Speech Day And Sports Meet

 Cast From The Herd:  Memories of Matriarchal Malaysia

M. Bakri Musa

Excerpt # 93:  Annual Speech Day And Sports Meet

Prefects were much on display during premier school events like the Annual Speech Day and Sports Meet. You could also count on those occasions being graced by the sultans. That year’s Sports Day was of particular interest as the King would be in attendance, his first visit to his son on campus. Excitement was high, more so at Prep School. 

            That afternoon after lunch with everybody eager to leave for the function at Big School, the main part of the campus, I waited to make certain that everyone was gone. Then when I was sure of that, I sneaked back into my cubicle and read my National Geographic. I figured that with everyone eager to see and be seen with the sultans, no one would notice my absence. 

            It did not take me long to fall asleep, what with the unusual quietness. I must have had a long deep sleep for when I was awakened by the noise of the boys returning, it was already dusk. When I was certain that most had returned as judged by the noise level, I slipped out into the crowd to jointly enthuse with them on what a great day it had been. I was right; nobody had noticed my absence. 

            Or so I thought. Later in the quiet of the evening after “lights out” when all the kids had settled in their beds, Mat Gajah, my fellow Prep School prefect, tiptoed into my cubicle and in a hushed voice inquired, “Where were you this afternoon?” So he knew! I shrugged and kept quiet. “I don’t believe in this sultan shit either,” he said, “but I wouldn’t dare do what you did!” 

            He was incredulous that I would even consider let alone do what to him was clearly an act of contempt if not derhaka (treachery) towards our rajas. In Malay society, when the sultan is present, you stop everything and be ready to execute his every command. 

            The other important campus event was Speech Day, an academic recognition day combined with the school exhibition. We again anticipated our share of sultans attending. Yusof Sidek and I had partnered to dissect a live rabbit (appropriately anesthetized of course), complete with open chest and a beating heart. The objective was to demonstrate the heart’s action to various drugs. In vivo dissection to us biology students was routine; not so for others. 

            I manned the exhibit first so that when it was time for the sultans’ visit later in the day I could say to Yusof, “It’s your turn.” What I did not anticipate was that he too was not enamored with royalty. So when I turned to him, he protested and insisted that he was but my sidekick and took off, leaving me sweating. Meanwhile the royal entourage was fast heading towards my bench. In desperation I found a classmate who was not doing anything. I begged him to take over on the pretext that I had to go to the bathroom. Eager to give a performance for the sultans, he readily agreed, and I gave him the fastest science lab demonstration in the history of the school! 

            With that I bolted out, a trapped tiger released from its cage. By then I was truly desperate for the bathroom, the anxiety having taken its toll. I savored the double relief of my now-empty bladder as well as being spared the dilemma of how to address Their Highnesses. Was it sembah (genuflect) first and then greet, or was it the other way around? 

            When I returned, my classmate was surrounded by those squealing princesses. He was enjoying himself, telling those giggling girls the various anatomical parts of the rabbit. Thank God it was a female specimen! Otherwise there would have been bashful giggling and blushing as the girls were shown the various anatomy. 

            As things had settled down, I left to look for my absconded partner. I told him that I had taken care of the matter and that it was now his turn to clean up. Yusof readily did his part. 

Next:  Excerpt # 94:  The Twig

Cast From The Herd: Excerpt #92: Duties of a Prefect

 Cast From The Herd:  Memories of Matriarchal Malaysia

M. Bakri Musa

Excerpt # 92:  Duties of a Prefect

Part of a prefect’s duty was to supervise evening “prep” or study hours. Three classes – Forms Four and Five Science, and Form Four “D” Arts – were the least popular with the prefects, and for opposite reasons. Sixth Formers did not need supervision; they were deemed adult enough. 

            The science boys were unpopular because of their brilliance and perhaps arrogance. They were aware that science was now emphasized and that they were the new privileged group. They had a reputation of making fools of their supervising prefects, especially those they deemed less-endowed intellectually, meaning the jocks. The D class presented a problem at the other end of the spectrum. Malaysian schools stream their students in order of merit, with the top students in the A class, the next in B, and so on. The D class needed no elaboration. Form Four being the ‘honeymoon’ year (no year-end national examination) only aggravated the situation. It was my luck to be assigned those three classes most often. I thought long and hard on how to manage them. An early error and I would be shark’s bait, triggering a feeding frenzy. 

            Hadi told me that the science boys would test you on your first session by bringing up a tough problem on the pretext of seeking your assistance. If you could not help them, then someone from the class would come up and solve it on the board, thus reducing you to a dimwit. As for the D class, Hadi advised me to establish my authority early so they would not dare test me later. If I were to give any leeway in the beginning, he warned me, they would take advantage of that and I would lose all control. 

            The first class I had to supervise was Form Four Science. Hadi was right; they were so predictable but I was ready. As luck would have it, they gave me a problem that Mr. Brown had tackled it in my class the previous year. The one thing that I remembered about that particular problem was that the answer given at the end of the book was wrong, a typo. That class assignment also revealed how far ahead that class (and Malay College) was by this time in that Mr. Brown had given them the same problem to Form Four what he had given to us at Lower Six only a year earlier.

            So I went to the board and solved the equation, explaining every step. Then just as I arrived at the answer, someone shouted from the back, “You’re wrong!” There was a smattering of snickering. “I checked the answer at the end of the book!” he heckled me. 

            “In that case, the book is wrong!” I fired back. “Check with your teacher tomorrow.” 

            The class was quiet; my casual and arrogant assertion had stunned them. From then on I had full control. I had established my alpha status, and so early too, in the only way that carried weight with that crowd, by demonstrating my presumed mathematical prowess. 

            I had an easier time with the Form Five Science class. I had known them earlier through our science club. The year before, they were in the inaugural Form Four Science class. After they had heard during the introduction night that my old school in Kuala Pilah had had its science class years earlier, they already had some respect for me and my old TMS. Their class monitor Ariffin Aton, also a prefect, commanded considerable respect among his classmates, and his favorable attitude towards me eased my introduction to them. That class also had the important Sixth Form Entrance and end-of-year national examinations coming up. As such they were more focused.

            The Form Four “D” Arts class gave me the most dyspepsia. To begin with, the students were so much bigger, older-looking, and very intimidating. Perhaps they were those war-time babies whose parents had forgotten their actual birth dates when they had to register their births after the war, hence their “precocious” physical developments. Their favorite trick, so I was told by my fellow Prep School prefect Hadi, was to have the meekest boy approach the new prefect at that first session for permission for a bathroom break. The prefect, sensing an easy target, would fall for the trap of denying the request so as to establish that all-important first impression of “personal authority.” At that point the boy would then wet his pants, by breaking a water balloon in his pocket or perhaps he was truly peeing. Either way, the class would have roared into laughter and the prefect lost any hope of control. 

            Sure enough the class pulled that same stunt the moment I sat down. However, instead of denying the request I let him go. The poor befuddled fellow was lost, his script no longer operative, but he recovered and took his break. Soon there was a line-up and I had an impending crowd-control crisis. 

            I stood up and with a calm, firm voice said, “Look, I really couldn’t care less whether you study or not, but I have to. I have tests to prepare for and lab reports to write.” I paused and waited till they all returned to their seats before continuing. “You all can go to the bathroom, but on one condition. One at a time! As soon as that first boy returns, the next in line can go.” 

            Having set the ground rules so clearly, I then sat down and focused on my own work. That entire evening there were perhaps at most four boys leaving for their lavatory break. I had given them freely what they thought was a prized commodity, and suddenly it was no longer a bone of contention. 

            I felt like a satisfied praying mantis; all I did was be myself, remained quiet, and they all fell right into my trap. I would not say that I did not have further problems but my time with them became much more tolerable most of the time and even enjoyable some of the time. 

            New prefects were on probation for the first term. I was never told what the conditions were to be confirmed. Absent such guidelines, the void was filled with traditions and assumptions. One was that new prefects must meet their quota of students sent to detention class. I had difficulty with that. First, being at prep school I would be dealing with new young pupils who were unlikely to pose disciplinary problems. Second, I did not feel right snooping around just to meet my quota. If they were flagrantly abusing the rules, then I would take the necessary action, and that would not always mean detention. So I ignored the presumed quota. Besides, that presumed quota made new prefects the target for ridicule and taunting from the other students. 

            Whatever it was, whether the students were afraid to break the rules in my presence or I had been derelict in my duties, I did not send anyone for detention. That surely was a record at Malay College. I did issue a few warnings. At the last assembly of the first term, all new prefects were confirmed. I could now don my school tie and special maroon blazer; it fitted me perfectly, in style and color. 

            That trademark tie and maroon blazer aside, I was honored to have been made prefect. It was humbling to be in a group that included some of the most illustrious names in the country. On a more pragmatic level, I had the luxury of a private room so I could study. 

Next: Excerpt # 93:  Annual Speech Day And Sports Meet

Grren Wave Floundering On Its Own Shallowness

 Green Wave Floundering On Its Own Shallowness

M. Bakri Musa

 

Many fear that the recent green wave in the state elections of Kedah, Kelantan, and Terengganu portends an ominous future for Malaysia. This sentiment, harbored by non-Malays but also shared by many Malays, is misplaced. The recent Islamists’ victory was but a rare rogue political wave that had crashed on a shallow beach. Spectacular to behold maybe, more so to landlubbers. As for lasting impact, none except for some superficial changes in sand dune contours.

 

            I have yet to see in the modern world any successful Islamic nation. Muslims’ hopes soared with the Islamic Revolution in Iran. Today the Ayatollah drove more Muslims out of our faith than even Stalin could ever hope. 

 

            Those three states are marginal in all respects – population wise, the quality of their people as measured by their health, education, and other measures, as well as economic output and other meaningful indicators. Kelantan leads only in the number of pornographic downloads, child and spousal abuses, sexually transmitted diseases, and divorce rates. Although overwhelmingly Malays, only one in six Malays reside in those three states, and their exodus continues. Those three states contribute less than seven percent to the national economy. If you further consider, the bulk of that are from their small non-Malay population, the five million or so Malays in those three states combined economic contributions to the national output are in the low single digit, percentage wise. Their tin kosong loudness notwithstanding, their economic contributions and thus political impact on Malaysia are also minimal despite observers making a big fuss about them.

 

            However, it would be a great tragedy not only to them but more so the nation if we were to ignore their grouses and frustrations. I share their lament and frustration in being bypassed by the economic development of the country. Theirs are justified, more so as those issues have long been ignored or if attended to, not very effectively. Like Malays elsewhere in the country, they see themselves increasingly marginalized. Their blaming pendatangs generally and the predominantly Chinese Democratic Action Party in particular reflects their helplessness and impotence. More satisfying emotionally, as well as buttressing one’s nationalist credentials, to do so rather than blaming our own corrupt incompetent leaders. These leaders continually promise heaven in the Hereafter for their followers. Meanwhile their followers endure Hell right here on earth. This frustration of the natives and envy of others, more so pendatangs, are not unique unto Malays. To wit, poor whites in rural America; hence Trump’s continued popularity.

 

            While I share the lament and frustrations of these poor Malays, I disagree profoundly with their and their leaders’ diagnoses of the issues, and even more with their remedies. The problem is not with the “others,” rather our leaders. 

 

            My solution would be two-prong:  bring economic development and improve the current abysmal education. The first is easier. Consider Kedah’s proposal for an international airport. At least the Chief Minister is thinking in the right direction. However with Penang Airport nearby and with two bridges across the strait, that is less urgent and would not be the best way to spend precious funds. How about a mega agricultural co-operative comparable to Canada’s Alberta Wheat Pool to develop those rice farmers? Make Kedah an efficient productive rice bowl able to export rice.

 

            An international airport at Kuala Terengganu would make far greater sense. That would boost tourism to the region. With rich Chinese tourists and others flooding in, those natives would have a different view of foreigners. Now that China is FELDA’s greatest customer, those Malay settlers have a decidedly different view of that country and in tandem, its people. A few years ago the Monsoon Cup was the sailing world’s celebrated event. Now that event is long gone. The East Coast could easily compete for international tourists with Bali, Phuket, and the Maldives.

 

            Along the same line I would have the headquarters of many federal agencies moved to the area. Learn from the British. They had a teachers college in Tanjung Malim, Malay College in Kuala Kangsar, Forestry Research Center in Kepong. Why not move Petronas headquarters to Kuala Terengganu, nearer to the oil fields?

 

            As for improving education, the system is now so rotten that it would be easy to make spectacular progress and in the process endear yourself to the people. Start with improving the physical facilities as well as providing highspeed Internet, and giving secondary school students laptops. Money would be more productively spent there than subsidizing Hajj and umrah or building crystal mosques. Revamp the curriculum to have science, mathematics, Malay, and English taught daily. As there are only so many hours in the school day, that would mean a corresponding decrease in hours devoted to Islamic Studies. There the emphasis should be more on the humanistic values of our faith, less over the rituals. I find it downright idiotic to teach students funeral ablution rites. By all means memorize the Qur’an, but that should be an after-school activity, done in the afternoon as with music, arts and crafts.

 

            Build a magnet school in every district, with 80 percent of the students drawn locally. Recruit capable foreign teachers, not the dozen or so through the Fullbright Program but hundreds as they do in Japan. I was visiting Terengganu back in the 1980s and saw a beautiful campus for a Petronas International School. It was later abandoned as few expatriates wanted to live there. Instead of letting local children use that facility, Petronas boarded it up, complete with laboratories, libraries, and luxurious teachers’ quarters.

 

            There are many lessons from the recent state elections. Fear of the Islamists taking over Malaysia is not of them. 

Casr From The Herd Excerpt #91: A New Breed of Malay College Students

 Cast From The Herd:  Memories of Matriarchal Malaysia

M. Bakri Musa

Excerpt # 91:  A New Breed of Malay College Students

As a prefect I was assigned to Prep School, a smaller two-storey complex at the opposite corner of the campus, far away from Big School, the main dormitory block. Prep school had its own dining facility. The approximately one hundred pupils who entered at Form One would spend their first year there, separated and protected from the rest of the school. 

            The other prefects there with me were Hadi Hashim, my classmate; Mohammad Omar, a year behind me; and Mat Yusof, two years behind. Except for Hadi, we were all rookie prefects. All of us except for Mat Yusof were in the science stream. Mat was a star soccer player, and like Hadi, hailed from Kelantan. Unlike Hadi who was an aristocrat (his father was then Kelantan’s State Secretary, the highest civil servant in the state), Mat was like me, from a kampung. He dawdled when he walked; hence his nickname, Mat Gajah (Mat The Elephant). He however assured me that his nickname arose because a part of his anatomy hung prominently, like an elephant’s trunk. The other prefect, Mohammad Omar, had an older brother who was at that time Selangor’s State Secretary. 

            The sentiment among the prefects generally was that being assigned to prep school was akin to being banished to Timbuktu. Perverse it may have seemed, that was the reason I welcomed it. I wanted to be as far away from the pernicious and regressive culture of Big School. 

            My Idris House dorm was the smallest physically. It was so small that my cubicle was in the adjacent Ahmad House dorm. It did not take me long to appreciate the many unanticipated benefits of being at Prep School. The food was far tastier. When you have to cook for only a hundred instead of six hundred, the results showed. As the food was geared for growing eleven- and twelve-year-olds, there were extra supplements and special treats like Magnolia chocolate milkshake, my favorite. 

            Most of all I liked the early “lights out” at nine. At Big School it was ten for everyone except Sixth Formers; for them, an hour later. Thus here I had a long evening of uninterrupted study in the privacy of my cubicle. That was my most precious privilege. 

            That year (1962) was the first time entry into the college at Form One was based strictly on merit, a significant milestone. There had been earlier and limited attempts, as with the college having its own admission examinations. That was not available widely. Besides, scores alone would not guarantee admission, as attested to by my brother Sharif’s earlier experience. 

            By 1960 every pupil in the country had to sit for the national examination at the end of their sixth school year. The college thus had a nation-wide pool of applicants. The results showed. With the notable exception of two pupils (and both “stood out”), the rest were top scorers. 

            I enjoyed many impromptu discussions with these bright First Formers. They were assertive, passionate, and well informed. The debates were intellectually far more stimulating than the many I had in the Sixth Form dorm. These youngsters had not yet been corrupted by the college’s anti-intellectual culture. 

            Once, I had an unusually vigorous discussion with them when Mat Gajah passed by. He shook his head and stomped away. Later he complained to me that those kids were rude, brash, and impertinent. They seemed fine to me. 

            The two notable exceptions I mentioned earlier were the son of the King and that of the Member of Parliament (MP) representing my district. They might have been above average in their previous school, but among that select crowd they were simply out-classed. I tried to engage the two, but would get only duds for responses. I could excuse the prince; after all Prince Charles did not get into Cambridge based on his A-level scores or Jack Kennedy into Harvard his SAT scores. My MP’s son however, confounded me. Malaysia of the 1960s was not yet blighted with corruption, cronyism, or nepotism. 

            I later discovered that all save those two had perfect scores in their Year-Six Examination. I did not need to know that; their performances spoke loud and clear. I felt sorry for the pair; they were out of their league, two sluggish minnows trailing the main school. The subsequent career trajectories of the others bore out my early observations. They included a future first Malaysian chief executive of a major multinational corporation (Megat Zaharuddin, Shell Oil Malaysia), a noted cell biologist (Noor Embi), immunologist (Ghazzali Ismail), engineering PhD (Ahmad Ibrahim), the highly respected jurist and fierce defender of judicial independence (Hishamuddin Yunos), two medical school deans (Tahir Azhar and Saidi Hashim), and countless other medical specialists as well as PhDs in the sciences. Quite a sparkling collection!

Excerpt # 92:  Duties of a Prefect

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.