LAST week my elder brother and I visited Sekolah Tuanku Abdul Rahman (STAR) in Ipoh as Yayasan Munarah was making a contribution to its wind orchestra. It is inspirational to visit places that are proud of their institutional history, where common experiences, shared ambitions and collective memories can create strong bonds between people even though they might not even have been at the school at the same time: in this way at least, schools are microcosms of nations.
The school was founded simply as the Malay Secondary School a few months before Merdeka, but the then Education Minister Datuk Khir Johari wanted the school named after our first Prime Minister. Tunku Abdul Rahman replied that it should be named after our first Yang di-Pertuan Agong instead. (And later, the Malay Girls College was named after the first Raja Permaisuri Agong, Tunku Kurshiah.)
The school has produced remarkable leaders since, and its commemorative book ‘STAR Through the Years’ is filled with nostalgic recollections and great photographs depicting our nation’s story more generally: relaxed optimism exuding from boys wearing jaunty songkoks and Form 6 girls in delightful skirts from the time when the school was briefly co-educational.
But what I found most meaningful was seeing the tree that my great-grandfather planted 55 years ago and reading his congratulatory message to the school. Tuanku wrote: “The main object of your school is to impart knowledge more particularly in English.” I wonder what the current Education Minister II, once an outstanding student at STAR, thinks of that. As former chairman of Mara, he would also be familiar with that institution’s comparatively pro-English policies.
If Datuk Seri Idris Jusoh’s recent attempt to link National Higher Education Fund (PTPTN) defaulters to the Central Credit Reference Information System (CCRIS), on the reasonable grounds that young Malaysians should exercise financial responsibility, is anything to go by, he isn’t afraid to speak his mind – although the outright hostility to that plan from many in his own party will maybe make him more cautious when suggesting future educational reforms.
From Ipoh we went to Kuantan – using the North-South Highway to KL then the East Coast Expressway (forming the ‘L’ of an imaginary right-angled triangle) was still the fastest option. Going via Kuala Lipis (this triangle’s approximate hypotenuse) would have taken much longer because the meandering of the hilly roads.
(I wonder why the anti-maths-and-science-in-English lobby hasn’t demanded that the Greek-origin ‘hipotenus’ be substituted for the equivalent term used by classical Muslim scholars. Maybe it’s because Muslim mathematicians were predominantly Persian “and therefore Shia”, even though Iran didn’t become officially Shia until the 16th century.)
The reason for this trek was the wedding of my double half second cousin. In this case, the bride Tunku Kaiyisah (well-known for her environmental initiatives) and I both share Tuanku Abdul Rahman (the same chap above) and Tengku Aishah Mandak of Terengganu (who later married a Pahang prince) amongst our ancestors. The resultant gathering of extended family members was a rare one, and long-lost uncles and aunts fondly educated me on the mores, moods and spirit of the past.
As the long day came to an end it occurred to me that I had now attended events in every state of our federation in recent years, almost all of them at schools or for weddings. And my journeys have made me realise that it’s not just dialects that are different across them, but entire languages too.
The long-running education debate places much emphasis on the language of instruction, but cleavages in our country exist because of different social, economic and religious languages within and across racial lines too. It’s not just about whether Malaysians are being taught in the same language, or whether they are growing up together, but also whether they are being taught the same national history, values and aspirations.
At this moment in time, as these divisions are being expressed in a space that is increasingly politicised, it’s apt to recall the best motto we have. It’s on our national coat of arms, and it is simply “unity is strength”. It’s such a shame that our recent slogans — “1 Malaysia” (deliberately left vague, we are told unfathomably) and now “Endless Possibilities” have created division and controversy.
On the radio this week were advertisements promoting our utopian vision: Malaysians get along with each other regardless of race, religion or economic situation. It’s a myth that is becoming increasingly difficult to prop up, and it’s a tragedy that this Merdeka Day looks set to be another superficial glossing over of our weaknesses instead of an opportunity to heal them.
Tunku Abidin Muhriz is president of Ideas.