Kampung boy, national politics and ‘jaguh kampung’

 

Continuing my musings on kampung politics.

It’s clear that national politics, which started in the kampungs, has returned there, and isn’t leaving any time soon.

I was the first boy in my kampung to attend university. I thought I’d be the next Einstein, when more realistically I should’ve aimed for being a civil servant, or a science teacher, or according to my mother, any job with a salary and pension.

Things didn’t work out for me, though the situation improved. Over time, I was even approached to enter local politics. Being the most “educated” local boy (flunking university notwithstanding), and one with a steady salaried job, I was clearly an up-and-coming prospect.

My parents were life-long Umno members. My father was in various kampung committees, from Umno’s to the fishery cooperative’s. But he was always the maverick who never got anywhere because he wouldn’t compromise, and it must be said, because he didn’t want to.

Ah, such silly principles he inherited from me. You really do need to choose your parents carefully. But it was what it was, and I can only hope I’ve inherited similar principles from my own children too.

Had I entered politics, with my good looks, charm (and humility), I’d be gallivanting everywhere, attending meetings, giving fiery speeches, eating fried chicken and…having people spit into my coffee.

Lost art of nation building

I’m just not the political type. My need to find balance in everything is an inconvenience. Any discussion on topics such as, say, Singapore, would see me arguing that the nation is a brilliant overachiever, or it’s a one full of insecure calculative “kaypos” …depending on what was the starting point.

In politics, you have to go all in and ignore everything else. Being able to see all sides of an argument is actually a big liability.

Back then, nation building was a big deal. To us it meant electricity, running water and being able to attend schools, even if at times barefooted. There were even Sekolah Dewasa, schools for adults, for the illiterates such as my mother who went there to learn her ABCs.

She failed miserably. Looking back, I recognise signs of dyslexia, which would explain her difficulties in learning. But she did inherit the intelligence, good looks and wicked sense of humour from me.

Ah, heady days. Fast forward a few decades. A friend told me of the joy of a father upon his son being made a federal minister. And no, it wasn’t because of the opportunity to “build the nation”, it’s just that his son had made it, and was set for the good life.

In the kampung today, politics is seen as a legitimate career, just like being a dentist or architect or businessman. Kids see many examples of worldly success through politics which they aspire to emulate, even if most of such examples are shallow, ostentatious and tacky.

Heroes of kampung children

Psychologically, it’s difficult for children to aspire to be something they’ve never seen, or even knew existed. In the kampungs, even in these digital days, kids don’t often see healthy examples of adults having productive careers.

What they see are local made-it-good examples who’re either social or religious or especially political leaders or, often all three. Make it four with “business leaders” too, on account of the big wealth that often comes from “business” after joining politics.

Or they see social media influencers hawking halal cosmetics or dodgy pharmaceuticals or lessons on how to become millionaire entrepreneurs. All these influencers are wealthy and successful, and move in the same circles as the powerful political elites, which adds to the allure.

And of course, they see on the national stage politicians who’re wealthy beyond belief. If you got it, flaunt it, and they do. Apa Malu Bossku? The kampung kids never figured out that more money in a politician’s pocket means less money in their own

In today’s politics, they don’t talk about nation building any more. Politics is totally coloured by racial grievances, which are easy and convenient to shout from the rooftops to get attention…or create diversion.

But driving it all is our collective insecurity, a product of centuries of a feudal society, with or without the colonialists.

Highs and lows of olden times

Consider this. In the old days (if the many Malay melodramas I’ve seen were correct), an ordinary Malay speaking to a “higher” person refers to himself as “hamba”, literally slave, with the other party being “tuan hamba”, literally “slave master”!

A successful or powerful or noble person then was referred to as “Orang Besar”, Big Man or even “Orang Kaya”, Rich Man. To royalty, you’re an insignificant “patek’ instead of “saya”, or I, the closest to my mind of being “I the unworthy”.

I’d hate to make an anthropological conclusion purely based on these few examples, which could very well be just a matter of excessive politeness and deference, but even that’s very revealing of the broader picture, so stick with me.

We were colonised by western powers who didn’t really have a hard time doing so. We were passed from one to another because of geopolitical manoeuvrings among them, driven by war and the waxing or waning of power.

The colonialists cunningly allowed us to keep our traditions and cultures, as being the easiest way to keep us docile, while they brought in migrant labourers to exploit the land’s resources. Both were seeds of our future nationhood, and also of future friction.

We fomented no insurrections and fought no wars of independence as the Filipinos and the Indonesians did. Our “independence wars” were all fought decades later, in glossy movies and fiery speeches at political conferences

Our insecurity made us ripe for any loud voice to acclaim himself as a hero and saviour. If there’s one thing we’re not short of, its heroes and saviours. We’re told to be grateful and know our place, and our women are told to speak like Doraemon and to accept being beaten “lightly”.

‘Slaves’ to the powerful

We’re even told it’s better to let our children, rather than our customs and culture, die!

The colonialists are gone, but the old culture where we’re “slaves” to Big or Rich Men, remain. While we may not be actual slaves to these people now, or even then, the mindset is of one. We haven’t freed ourselves of such shackles – and may even have created some new ones.

There’s no societal desire to create an open and just society, because that would upset centuries of privileges for the elites. Given our “darjat”, or class system, we have way more than our fair share of those born into privilege, and ironically because of democracy, many more who aren’t can use it to join this privileged, “kayangan” or paradise, class.

So here we are today, benighted by blind adherence to our betters, grateful for crumbs swept our way, scared of our own shadows, and inventing new shackles for ourselves. We’re drifting further away from believing all-men-are-equal even if that’s what democracy, and Islam, is all about.

If I’d ventured into politics and hadn’t succumbed to black magic or tainted coffee, I could’ve been a Big or Rich Man by now, and you’d have to refer to yourself as a slave when speaking to me.

My mother, who always reminded us she was nobody’s slave, probably wouldn’t speak to me though. - FMT

The views expressed are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect those of MMKtT.