LAST week, writing about politicians’ salaries, I touched upon how expectations voters have of their elected representatives have evolved over time.
One expectation that has become standard is the portrayal of sympathy, in particular upon the death of an inspirational figure or during a national catastrophe.
Of course, many people will genuinely feel such emotions and will want to express them, but we also expect national leaders to express them, which gives rise to the problem that sometimes they might not be sincere – or might try too hard to appear sincere.
The death of Nelson Mandela naturally sparked many tributes from leaders around the world, and certainly some sounded more heartfelt than others.
There are few human beings of recent history worthy of a deluge of tribute, but the first fully democratically elected President of South Africa is certainly one of them. While many have tried distilling his life story into memorable quotes and memes spread across social media, to me that runs the risk of oversimplifying what was a long and complex life that shaped his ideological beliefs, his political strategy, his ultimate achievements and what will become his enduring legacy.
This complexity has allowed a diverse group of people to claim him as one of their own.
The far left enjoy the fact that he was once linked to militant communists, while the centre left point out that the party he led was a social democratic party.
We on the centre right highlight his affinity towards private property rights: in his autobiography ‘Long Walk to Freedom’, he wrote that the African National Congress’ Freedom Charter, when realised, would guarantee that “Africans would have the opportunity to own their own businesses in their own names, to own their own houses and property, in short, to prosper as capitalists and entrepreneurs.” In any case, what is certain is that he entertained, and was much admired by, politicians of opposing sides across the world.
In our press much reference was made to his Malaysian connections, particularly his interactions with politicians and how relations between the two countries blossomed.
But most of the coverage missed one crucial historical aspect, which is the stance taken by our first Prime Minister to apartheid in South Africa.
Tunku Abdul Rahman was a vociferous opponent of the policy and insisted that the matter be discussed at the first Commonwealth Conference he attended as Prime Minister in 1960.
Partly as a result of his efforts, South Africa was prevented from being a member of the Commonwealth from 1961 until the end of apartheid in 1994.
You would have thought that delegates from the Tunku’s own political party, amidst its general assembly, would have enthusiastically highlighted their second president’s courageous international contribution to human rights.But there was not one mention reported.
Mandela, for his part, did remember these efforts: shortly after his release from prison in 1990, the Thembu prince asked to meet the Kedah prince.
Though Mandela visited Malaysia in November that year, the meeting was not allowed to happen, I am told, because the Tunku was supporting the opposition Semangat 46 at the time.
Tunku Abdul Rahman passed away the month after, 23 years shy a day before Nelson Mandela.
Last month I remarked on Malaysians’ generosity towards the victims of super Typhoon Haiyan in the Philippines, but appeals for the victims of the recent flooding in the east coast are hitting harder emotionally.
In compassionate displays in line with the adage that “charity begins at home”, every Pahangite I know has either been on site or organising collections for supplies to their affected kin.
In particular, the daily efforts on the ground by the Pahang royal family have been universally praised.
The efforts of politicians, however, have been less unanimously commended.
Perhaps this is partly because both sides explicitly use political party branding in their relief efforts and at least some of the individuals concerned claim the other side is doing it as a publicity stunt. I am sure that most of the volunteers are sincere, but why must their chosen platform be a political party instead of a charity?
There also seems to be remarkably little in the way of proposing a proper long-term solution.
It is no comfort to the people to say that conditions were unusually harsh this year: it is the duty of the policymakers to formulate solutions that will withstand harsher-than-usual conditions.
This is not the first time that pictures of a deluged Kuantan have appeared on our front pages, and I hope that the development and cheerful demeanour that I witnessed in the state capital a few months ago will survive this episode: may this be the last such occurrence.
Tunku Abidin Muhriz is founding president of Ideas.