Lessons from Abdullah Badawi

 What distinguishes Abdulah Badawi from most other prime ministers is that he did not use race or religion to rise up the political ladder.

Everyone who has written or spoken about Malaysia’s fifth prime minister Abdullah Ahmad Badawi, who died on April 14 aged 85, has praised his kindness, his consideration for others, his decency and his ability to forgive.

He has been described as “Mr Nice” and as “a gentleman”.

As someone who covered functions officiated by Abdullah in the 1980s and 1990s for the New Straits Times in Penang and Kedah, I couldn’t agree more.

He was soft-spoken, willing to listen and moderate in his approach. Like first prime minister Tunku Abdul Rahman, he genuinely wanted all Malaysians to live in peace and harmony.

But I think the one major distinguishing feature that was missed by everyone is that Abdulah did not use race or religion to rise up the ladder in politics.

If we study the trajectories of all those who became prime minister after Hussein Onn, we will notice that they either championed the Malays or Islam – including taking hardline positions and being vocal about their fight for their people or Islam – to move up the ranks.

Abdullah did not do so. Abdullah used his Malaysian credentials – and succeeded just as well.

The lesson here is that you can be a Malaysian, and yet win elections; you need not build up an image of being a champion of the Malays or Islam, although that works faster.

I noted that many of the politicians who heaped lavish praise on Abdullah were among the very people who helped bring about his political downfall. And they so glibly praised the very decency that they exploited to weaken him politically. Hypocrisy? But that’s politics.

Then again, I suppose decency demands that we refrain from saying bad things about the newly departed.

Once in the 90s, after I had interviewed him, the conversation flowed into Penang politics and his main rival to the Umno leadership. One of his aides complained that the rival, through his proxies, was trying to shut out Abdullah; and that he was also checkmating projects Abdullah had proposed.

Abdullah smiled: “Yes, it is getting very tough for us. But let him be, we will continue with our work. It is his time now but things don’t always remain the same.”

How true! A few years later, Abdulah became deputy prime minister, and the rival was out of the picture for a while. (The rival did come back much later in a big way, but that’s a story for another day).

The lesson that we can learn from this is to not be discouraged or vindictive but to continue doing what is right or in our plan. If our intentions are sincere, if we are patient, and if our actions are effective, the rewards will come.

His Hari Raya open houses were simple affairs, at least when he was a minister, but they were well attended. I would inevitably bump into a couple of his former schoolmates from Bukit Mertajam High School.

He held his open house even during the period when he was in the political wilderness – from the middle of 1987 to March 1991 when he was out of the Cabinet because of his alleged involvement with Team B, which had tried to topple Dr Mahathir Mohamad.

That is when I re-learnt another important lesson about politicians: they have absolutely no loyalty.

The large number of people – especially politicians and civil servants – who had lined up at his house when he was a minister had dissipated. I saw only a few familiar faces, such as Dr Koh Tsu Koon and his ex-school friends, during those years.

However, when he became deputy prime minister, the crowds at his Kepala Batas family home surged again.

There was also another realisation: Ordinary people are not that far removed from politicians and civil servants when it comes to a desire to be associated with the powerful.

Abdullah’s detractors often targeted his administration by saying it was being run by a group of young fellows who became notoriously known as “the fourth-floor boys”. It was headed by his son-in-law Khairy Jamaluddin, who was then seen as being rather abrasive.

And when Abdullah resigned under pressure – including from his own party people in 2009 – there were those who blamed “the fourth-floor boys” for contributing to it.

Was Abdullah wrong in allowing a family member room for so much influence? Was this viewed by Umno politicians as paving the way for the rise of a political family? Were politicians jealous of Khairy’s sudden prominence?

To understand the lessons here, one may need to zoom or move out for a while – or keluar sekejap as they say in Malay – to reflect on it.

I had often heard Abdullah say that this country did not belong to the Malays or any other single ethnic group but that “it belongs to each and every one of us regardless of creed or colour”.

He tried, perhaps more than any other prime minister since Hussein Onn, to promote unity – but met with failure.

For instance, as prime minister, he backed a proposal for an interfaith commission, an advisory body where all religions would be represented, which would deal with interreligious problems and attempt to resolve them amicably.

However, he was not strong enough to withstand the fast and furious attacks of Islamic hardliners and those who felt a commission would mean a demotion for the status of Islam, and that of his political detractors led by his predecessor Mahathir. Most of those in his own party did not support him.

If Abdullah had read Niccolo Machiavelli, he must have dismissed the part where he gives this advice: “Any man who tries to be good all the time is bound to come to ruin among the great number who are not good. Hence, a prince who wants to keep his authority must learn how not to be good, and use that knowledge, or refrain from using it, as necessity requires.”

I have always seen Abdullah as more of an administrator than a political leader. One reason is because he lacked the street fighter’s ability – unlike, say, Mahathir and the late minister S Samy Vellu – to stay in power.

Mahathir and Samy Vellu were adept at political surgery that swiftly excised “unwanted” growth. Abdullah moved too slowly, if at all.

He also moved too slowly on important national issues, resulting in all of them piling up on him. In that sense, he was weak. And in the last days of his prime ministership, he appeared to have lost his resolve.

Abdullah had had the opportunity to bring about a better, more united Malaysia, especially after the tremendous amount of goodwill he received when he won the 2004 general election with a landslide. But he fumbled – and failed.

He could have turned the tide that had gained momentum during the 1980s and 1990s and set course for a more united Malaysia where all races would feel at ease, but he lacked both the firm resolve needed to fight those opposing his reforms and the backing of his own party.

Would he have succeeded if he had had another term? No. The deep state had become too entrenched and his opponents too brazen. More importantly, he did not have it within him to push his reforms through.

That brings us to another important lesson that we can learn from Abdullah. Intentions, no matter how good, are useless unless accompanied by strong will and effective implementation. This is crucial to leadership.

Therefore, history, which gives greater weightage to achievements than intentions, may not look kindly upon Abdullah.

But Malaysians who appreciated his kind nature, can look upon him kindly.

In launching the book “Being Abdullah Ahmad Badawi -The Authorised Biography” in November 2016, Sultan Nazrin of Perak ended by quoting from “The Well of Ascension” by Brandon Sanderson.

Those who see the good-natured man that Abdullah was would agree that Sultan Nazrin was spot on in including this quote: “Good men don’t become legends,” he said quietly. “Good men don’t need to become legends.” She opened her eyes, looking up at him. “They just do what’s right anyway.” - FMT

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