A Merdeka Post

As much as I’d like to put up a post commemorating our 49th Merdeka day celebrations, I’m afraid I’m not that good at writing patriotic articles. So, I found this captivating piece written by a brilliant columnist published in The Sun today and thought I’ll put this one up instead. It’s so good that I couldn’t have explained it better myself. Here’s a little sharing of thought, from Juana Jaafar.


A heart-felt freedom
Juana Jaafar

My thoughts are with my father this Merdeka. I can imagine us having a conversation about how superficially Malaysians celebrate the holiday, fussing over flags, fireworks and jingles.

I see us discussing the annual politics of Merdeka, where racial groups try to outdo each other's jingoism through boorish rhetoric. We would be watching television and appreciating some of the brilliant, heart-wrenching holiday advertisements that cost millions to produce.

We would then probably talk about the amount of money spent on this once-a-year corporate show of patriotism and how the funds can actually be used to send bright but underprivileged students for top-notch education. Ya, my father and I would definitely talk about that.

I can see our chat being disrupted by one of those offensive Filem Negara Merdeka clips. We would watch in disbelief at how the government, after all that back-to-the-future Super Corridor hoo-ha, would invade our private space with hazy power-point presentations that look like re-runs from the early 1980s.

Bad enough that they undermine our technological advancement, these productions are an insult to our intellectual maturity, using Cold War era propaganda techniques of associating the idea of freedom and harmony with marching tunes and military visuals.

I can imagine my father asking me: What does it really mean to be liberated, to be independent? He would ask this question, praying hard I would not regurgitate the dreadful answers I was taught in school.

You are right, Papa. Liberty and independence is not just about being free from foreign occupation. We may have negotiated our freedom with the British, but we are still heavily burdened by its racial and feudal divide-and-rule legacy.

It has shaped our social and political imagination in such a way that we are still by and large communal.

The public spaces we share seem limited to mamak stalls, shopping complexes and highways. The good folk of Klang Valley may beg to differ, but they only need to drive around town a little bit to see this reality.

Surely liberty and independence apply to more than just the material, the nation state. What about the colonisation of the mind? And ideological hegemony?

I am ever so grateful that my father raised us to be aware of the latent and the manifest. Since school my sisters and I were able to distinguish between news and propaganda.

As human beings we are of course gullible, but thanks to my father we are not so ignorant.

And what about conscience? My father always said that it is your conscience that will save you. It is the only thing that will force you to do what is right. If we were a nation with a conscience, we would not discriminate against race, religion or vocation.

We would not be flattening our precious forest reserves for slipshod housing developments, or be shooting barking dogs as we please. Nor would we have such crises as the "urban poor" or have corruption become part of our culture. Without conscience how can we have integrity? And without integrity, my father would say, one has no maruah.

My father died in peace last week after being ill for some time. I am still overwhelmed by the number of people who came to the house to pay their final respects to him.

He was a man who did not discriminate when choosing friends.

From Tan Sris and Datuks to former staff and drivers; Indians, Punjabis, Chinese, Malays and others; politicians from the left and right; scholars, writers and college students came to visit.

They were a pool of people perfect for one of those expensive corporate Merdeka advertisements, except that they were genuinely muhibbah.

My father was the quintessential Malaysian.

While I sincerely accept his death as God's will, my heart will be forever broken.

It is a good thing he married my mum 32 years ago on that very special Merdeka Day - a tough lady and a magnet who will keep the family together, looking out for each other.

In loving memory of my father, I dedicate this article to mum. Happy anniversary.

The writer is a regular Malaysian. Comments: feedback@thesundaily.com