The beasts that celebrate independence day
Umar MukhtarPublished: Aug 30, 2005 6:06 AM | Updated: Jan 29, 2008 10:21 AM
This year on Aug 31, I will not join the conscripted masses who will be perfunctorily celebrating our day of freedom from colonial rule. Age and more so, wisdom, have caught up with me.
On Aug 31, 1957, as a six-year old, I hoisted the new Malayan flag while on top of my headmaster-father's shoulders at the village school 'padang' near Bidor. I had barely understood the frenzy that had consumed all those screaming 'Merdeka' at the 'padang' where until recently, white men in uniforms and helicopter landings provided the only excitement for us kids.
My father said then that we were now free to decide our own political future. So indeed we had been. But after 48 years of soul-searching, I find little reason to celebrate, and I will not give false hopes to my own brood.
Freedom is more a state of mind than the visible shackles of chains and forced subservience to a declared adversary. It seems to me that the only freedom we have exercised in 48 years is that we have 'freely' replaced the 'bad guys' with our own.
This out of fear of losing something we were told we now have; out of false loyalty to our own creed and out of fear and distrust of our fellow-Malaysians who do not profess our version of heaven and hell.
We have not freed ourselves from the demons of our own minds. We are prisoners of our own fears. Never mind the 'bad guys', for it is the nature of the beast. The convoluted ways we see our little world had become the fertile hunting grounds for these beasts. They are the ones who have many things to celebrate on Aug 31. Leave me out of it.
On Aug 31, I will be sending my 15-year-old jalopy to the workshop to fix the leaking radiator. On Aug 31, I will witness the completion of a helicopter pad of my neighbour's house whose fortunes arose from selling thousands of Approved Permits, thus forcing my prolonged relationship with my jalopy.
I am not envious. I am proud that a fellow bumiputera is now filthily rich. I only hope that the policies that caused his wealth will not reverse my father's sense of achievement and pride when he carried me as an innocent child on his shoulders 48 years ago.
He has died in denial.
On Aug 31, 1957, as a six-year old, I hoisted the new Malayan flag while on top of my headmaster-father's shoulders at the village school 'padang' near Bidor. I had barely understood the frenzy that had consumed all those screaming 'Merdeka' at the 'padang' where until recently, white men in uniforms and helicopter landings provided the only excitement for us kids.
My father said then that we were now free to decide our own political future. So indeed we had been. But after 48 years of soul-searching, I find little reason to celebrate, and I will not give false hopes to my own brood.
Freedom is more a state of mind than the visible shackles of chains and forced subservience to a declared adversary. It seems to me that the only freedom we have exercised in 48 years is that we have 'freely' replaced the 'bad guys' with our own.
This out of fear of losing something we were told we now have; out of false loyalty to our own creed and out of fear and distrust of our fellow-Malaysians who do not profess our version of heaven and hell.
We have not freed ourselves from the demons of our own minds. We are prisoners of our own fears. Never mind the 'bad guys', for it is the nature of the beast. The convoluted ways we see our little world had become the fertile hunting grounds for these beasts. They are the ones who have many things to celebrate on Aug 31. Leave me out of it.
On Aug 31, I will be sending my 15-year-old jalopy to the workshop to fix the leaking radiator. On Aug 31, I will witness the completion of a helicopter pad of my neighbour's house whose fortunes arose from selling thousands of Approved Permits, thus forcing my prolonged relationship with my jalopy.
I am not envious. I am proud that a fellow bumiputera is now filthily rich. I only hope that the policies that caused his wealth will not reverse my father's sense of achievement and pride when he carried me as an innocent child on his shoulders 48 years ago.
He has died in denial.
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