©The Sunday Star (Used by permission)
• Struggling to walk in his father’s footsteps
• A part of the crowd at proclamation
• Surviving the crises
After initially baulking at a career in politics, Tun Dr Ismail Abdul Rahman finally joined Umno in 1951 and found himself swept up the ranks of government.
HE would have been the country’s third prime minister, but it was not to be.
Even when suffering from a congenital heart condition, plus recurrent throat cancer, he stoically carried on – “just one more, before calling it a day” – and he died in the saddle.
Tun Dr Ismail Abdul Rahman was acting prime minister when he collapsed of a massive heart attack, alone in his upstairs study after a solitary dinner of steak on the night of Aug 2, 1973. He was 57.
Ismail was born on Nov 4, 1915 to a well–known Johor family. His father, Datuk Abdul Rahman Yassin, Johor state treasurer, was a disciplinarian and was partly responsible for shaping Ismail’s iron backbone.
Ismail was only 12 when his mother Zaharah died and his paternal step–grandmother brought him up.
In between dragging him from Muar to Mersing to visit various clansmen, she imbued Ismail with a sense of family responsibility, of being Melayu lama, tracing his ancestry back to the bendahara line that served the Malacca sultanate.
“One line provided the civil servants and another line provided the consorts who would be married off to the sultans,” said Ismail's eldest son Tawfik.
The young Ismail grew up in a large household, the second of nine children and an equal number of adopted sisters – Chinese by birth and brought up no differently from his own biological sisters.
Ismail listened to the women, recalled Tawfik. “He thought Malay society was matriarchal, believing that they were the backbone of Umno. Thus he always got on well with the women, speaking more easily with them than most other men of his society and age.”
Of his siblings, Ismail was particularly close to his eldest brother Suleiman, who later became Minister of the Interior when he held the portfolio of external affairs.
The brothers enjoyed arguing points of principle to sharpen their minds, said Tawfik.
The impeccably–dressed Suleiman was the first and at one time the only Malay graduate in Johor, and Ismail was the first Malay doctor to have graduated from Australia. Both were financed by their father.
Given his “sacrifice” for his sons, Abdul Rahman was understandably furious when Ismail “abandoned his profession” to enter politics.
He had trained as a doctor and had “looked forward to being a millionaire”, having run a successful practice at the Klinik Tawakkal, opposite the Kuok shop on Jalan Trus in Johor Baru from 1947 to 1953.
“His brother–in–law Tun Awang said he was more likeable before he joined politics, people found him less aloof and more affable,” recalled Tawfik.
Politics was simply not Ismail’s natural calling. But Malay nationalism was sweeping the country and neither Suleiman nor Ismail could resist the tide.
Upon returning from Melbourne, Ismail joined the Malay Graduates’ Association, a political discussion group whose thoughts proved seminal to the independence movement.
Eventually, the two brothers headed this movement and Tunku Abdul Rahman was in fact persuaded to run for Umno president only when assured of its support.
The Abdul Rahman family was an Umno family – another brother, Yassin, served as Umno secretary–general until independence.
After initially baulking at a career in politics, Ismail finally joined Umno in 1951. Its founder Onn Ja’afar had resigned and the Tunku, whom Ismail held in high regard, had accepted the party helm.
Most importantly to Ismail, Umno had crystallised its goal from a vague Malay nationalism to merdeka.
Ismail quickly found himself swept up the ranks of government. He first stood for the Johore Timor constituency in 1955, won, and went on to be re–elected in 1959, 1964 and 1969.
In a political career spanning two decades, Ismail was entrusted with the greatest range of portfolios in Cabinet – Lands, Mines and Communication (1953–54), Natural Resources (1954–55), Commerce and Industry (1956–57; 1959), Foreign Affairs (1959), Internal Security (1960), Home Affairs (1961; 1964; 1969), Justice (1964–67), and Deputy Prime Minister (1970–73).
On the heels of merdeka, he was appointed Malaya’s first ambassador to Washington DC and its first permanent representative to the United Nations.
Ismail’s contribution to the politics of the day was recognised: he was awarded the title of Tun in 1966, the first recipient of the august title.
He was a man of definite opinions and his sense of racial equality, his acceptance of races other than Malay, traced back to his own boyhood. Apart from his own adopted sisters, Ismail counted among his best friends the Kuok brothers, Leslie Cheah and the Puthucheary brothers.
And as a medical student in Australia, he wrote to his father in early 1946: “My colleagues treat me as an equal. Never by deeds or words have they ever discriminated me from the other Australian doctors ... I never met a single person who took exception to me just because I am a Malay.”
This innate trust among the races was imperative in forming the first Alliance government, when citizenship and language were of paramount concern.
Those Malays who tried to suppress all other languages other than their own showed “no considerations for the Chinese and Indians who are already in this country”, noted Ismail in Ooi Kee Beng’s book The Reluctant Politician. It was enough, Ismail felt, that non–Malays accepted the fact that Malaya was a Malay country and that the national language was Malay.
Not surprisingly, all races turned up to pay their respects before his body was buried – the first to be given the honour – in the National Mausoleum.
Ismail generously gave of his development ideas without “wanting the glory” of recognition. The Federal Territory idea was his; he laid the groundwork for the Federal Land Development Authority (Felda); and he believed that China should guarantee South–East Asia’s neutrality.
He was staunchly anti–communist, dubbed Sukarno “the Fuehrer of Jakarta”, and supported the revival of the Association of South–East Asia.
But Ismail’s tenacious aspiration to high standards also alarmed his peers.
In his unpublished memoirs titled Drifting, he recalled in 1967 having asked the electorate “to elect either all the candidates on the Alliance ticket or none at all”.
“I saw the election as a means of measuring our strength and popularity with the voters whereas some of my colleagues ... were more interested in securing seats in the council for themselves,” he noted.
Tawfik recalled that his father enjoyed sports: boxing, tennis, golf and swimming.
“He swam the Straits (of Tebrau) when it was swimmable,” and having built a modest pool in his home, kept it up until he died.
Ismail was an avid golfer, playing a handicap of 15. He was a great believer in solving problems on the green. Later, faced with strained relations between Malaya and Singapore, Ismail and Singapore’s then Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew continued to play golf.
His health notwithstanding, Ismail enjoyed his food and he loved Laksa Johor. “My Dad would grind the rice to make the noodle,” Tawfik said.
His habitual pipe and an occasional cigarette only made matters worse.
The Tunku said of Ismail in the The Star of June 2, 1975: “Ismail was that type of man – short in temper and easy to take offence – but if he were allowed to reflect and calm down, he would recover his equilibrium as quickly as he had lost it. Above all, at heart he was a very loyal and faithful colleague.”
Like many of his generation, he loved his country more than he loved himself.
Struggling to walk in his father’s footsteps
LIVING up to his father’s standards has been hard for his eldest son Tawfik Tun Ismail, the one–term MP for Sungei Benut (1986–90).
“I have tried but I don’t think I succeeded,” he admitted soberly.
“For one thing, times have changed. So people too have to change.
“It used to bother me when people asked me why I couldn’t be more like my father. It doesn’t any more because I realised that my critics actually didn’t know my father. They didn’t live in his time, so how would they know what he was like?”
He recalled a meeting with Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad before the elections in 1990, and Dr Mahathir telling him “people like him (Tawfik) should not be in politics” and that “not every son can be like their father. People like you should be in business.”
Tawfik said Dr Mahathir then told him: “After the elections, come and see me.”
But Tawfik never did. He said he left Dr Mahathir with this parting shot: “The best years of my life was when I was fighting you.”
Ismail’s sharp tongue is part of his son’s legacy.
During the 1987 Ops Lallang, Tawfik had called Dr Mahathir “dictator”.
“The other Umno members decided it was a bit disloyal,” said Tawfik.
But to Tawfik, it was wrong “to show your strength by having race–based rallies”.
“When you are in a position of authority, you must be careful of your language. You cannot put things in such a way that you frighten people, or (make them) worry for their lives.”
But Tawfik admitted that he “wasn’t very successful” in business.
“Maybe one of the things my father taught us was not to turn to the government for help. Some people call me proud.”
During his seven years as group general manager of the Fleet Group in the 1980s, he was also director of the American Malaysian Insurance, Bank of Commerce, Fleet Communications and Company Secretary of other Fleet subsidiaries, including the New Straits Times Group of Companies.
These days, Tawfik is a visiting fellow at ISEAS in Singapore, and he is editing the “Ambassador’s Journal”, his father’s reports while posted to the United States, and Ismail’s unpublished autobiography Drifting.
He is also setting up a private international school after his father because, inexplicably, there is “still nothing named in his honour in his own home state”.
Ismail would have been 92 had he lived.
Tawfik is as forthright as his late father.
Very recently, after the book The Reluctant Politician sparked widespread interest, some people suggested building a memorial in Muar with a RM7.3mil allocation.
“Don’t waste your time,” Tawfik had shot back, countering that the money would be better spent on scholarships for poor students. “Just pile some rocks in the estuary. Who is going to come and see a memorial in Muar anyway?
“And this does not even include the annual maintenance budget. People will blame the family for this white elephant. It’s 33 years too late and RM7.3mil too much.”
If Tawfik is the only one of Ismail’s six children to have entered the public sphere, the others are no less proud to walk in his footsteps.
“My father never allowed us to think that we were special. I don’t think we lived off his name,” said his eldest daughter Zailah.
“As an example, after Form 6, I wanted to do law at Universiti Malaya and met the (then) head of the law faculty. He knew who my father was, of course, and said there should be no problem getting a place. My father forbade me from taking up a place just because of who he was rather than my own abilities.
“Whatever job we took, we worked harder because we are Tun Ismail’s children.
“Dad was very strict and he frowned on corruption. We don’t trade on our father’s name. We don’t mix in that circle.”
Eventually, after Ismail’s death, Zailah, by then 20, did go on to study political science at the Universiti Sains Penang, and then pursued a Masters in Psychology.
“When I left school before going to university, I wanted to work. So I got a job at the United States Information Service. My pay was RM100.
“My father was so strict he made me pay for my own dry cleaning. He said that since I was now working, he was not going to pick up my cleaning tab any more.
“He organised our school holidays to coincide with his constituency visits, which in those days was 10 hours to Mersing. We threw up in the car.”
Yet there was a softer side to Ismail as well.
“He bought me all my Beatles records. And you know how most parents tell you to turn the volume down. He told me to turn it up. When travelling, he would say ‘The Monkees are staying in the same hotel as me.’ He was very cool that way.
“He would allow me to have ‘summer parties’, when all my friends came back for their summer holidays. Some met their future husbands and wives at our house.
“My father learnt that people ignored you when you were out of office. Our first Hari Raya open house after he retired in 1967 was very quiet. I remember mum saying 'Without power, no one came.'
“At the Angkasapuri opening, he found that he had not been allocated a proper seat. So he just marched out.
“And during his retirement in 1967, there was an ambassador who did not bother to meet him or see to his needs. When he came back as DPM in 1969, and this ambassador came to meet him at the airport, he told him to ‘get out of my sight’.
“These were lessons to me personally. You have to make it on your own.
“Father couldn’t stand it if you lied to him. Don’t use money, position with him. (He liked) good honest people.
“Today I don’t suffer fools gladly. These are the core principles which you must have – that’s me.”
A part of the crowd at proclamation
By Tunku Ismail Jewa
MY father, Tunku Mohammad Jewa, the elder brother of Tunku Abdul Rahman, was invited to attend the Proclamation of Independence ceremony at Merdeka Stadium as a special guest of the Chief Minister.
As his son, I was obliged to take care of him during his stay at the Residency, the official residence of the Tunku.
On the morning of Aug 31, 1957, I accompanied him to Merdeka Stadium. We travelled there in a chauffeur–driven grey Rolls Royce that belonged to Tunku’s Chinese millionaire friend.
When I was in the stadium I had the privilege of sitting beside Prince William, the son of the Duke of Gloucester. I noticed that he was just a teenager and for the occasion he wore a grey lounge suit and he had a medal on his left breast pocket.
I do not think it was intended that I should sit with the prince but I think I was lucky to get that seat when Datuk Syed Hussain, the Tunku’s son–in–law who was then the protocol officer, gave me the invitation card to the stadium.
My proudest moment during the historic event was to hear my uncle making the following declaration to the people of Malaysia: “... I, Tunku Abdul Rahman Putra ibni Almarhum Sultan Abdul Hamid Halim Shah, Prime Minister of the Persekutuan Tanah Melayu ... do hereby proclaim and declare ... on behalf of the people of the Persekutuan Tanah Melayu as from the 31st day of August 1957 the Persekutuan Tanah Melayu ... shall be forever a sovereign democratic and independent State founded upon the principles of liberty and justice ...”
Surviving the crises
Writing on Sept 1, 1986, in conjunction with the 29th anniversary of Merdeka, Tunku Abdul Rahman reminded Malaysians to remember those who gave their loyalty and service to the cause of independence.
THE 29th anniversary of Merdeka was celebrated yesterday. A lot of water has passed under the bridge since we first proclaimed our independence and one must accept changes, though some have not been too good for Malaysia.
In those early days, the financial position of this country was healthy and we had no problems except for the state of Emergency brought about by the Communist insurrection, which had been going on for 10 years.
The former Malayan government had to fight the Communists and was not able to crush them until after Merdeka.
Chin Peng had frankly stated his stand when I met him in Baling in 1955. According to him, the Communists would not surrender and would not co–exist with my party, the Alliance. They would continue the fight until the battle was won and they could set up a Communist state in Malaya. The people took our side and we were able to get the better of them, and they were soon on the run.
On Aug 26, 1956, Yuong Kuo who was considered the most dangerous and cunning Communist leader was shot dead. With his death, Chin Peng was left to fight the battle alone.
On Aug 31, 1957, independence was proclaimed and the Emergency situation in Malaya greatly improved. People were able to travel to most parts of the country without restriction.
We had to fight the enemy ourselves but the British, Australian and New Zealand forces stood by, ready to help under the Defence Agreement when called upon.
President Soekarno of Indonesia had uttered threats if the other territories of Borneo, Sarawak and Brunei were to join Malaya.
This, I thought, was a cock–eyed attitude to take because he himself had claimed all the territories ruled by the Dutch as part of Indonesia, including faraway Dutch New Guinea, inhabited by people of an entirely different race and culture from the Indonesians.
What objection then could he have against Sarawak, North Borneo and Brunei joining us for we were all administered by the British government in Malaya?
On May 27, 1961, I attended a luncheon given in Singapore by the foreign correspondents of South–East Asia at the Adelphi Hotel.
It was there that I mentioned the possible merger of the states of Singapore, North Borneo and Sarawak with Malaya, and that maddened Soekarno.
How this unity could be brought about would be divulged later, because in truth I didn’t know. I had not consulted the British government yet. These territories could be brought closer together in political and economic co–operation, I said, so let Soekarno do what he liked.
The atmosphere was electrifying and everybody suddenly took a great interest in this plan. After lunch, they started crowding around me and wanted to know more. The reaction was a general approval by the people of these territories, and by the British government.
When I returned to Kuala Lumpur, the first person to greet me was the former Sultan of Brunei, Sir Muda Omar Ali Saifuddien. He was already waiting at my house and came out with outstretched arms to meet me, exclaiming how happy it would be for Brunei to join the new Malaysia.
Then Soekarno came out with a “Crush Malaysia” battle cry. No sooner had he uttered this than the Philippines came out with their claim on Sabah. According to them, the state was part of the Sultanate of Sulu and by right it belonged to them.
In actual fact, it was the other way round. It was the Sultan of Brunei who owned that part of the Philippines. In fact, Brunei owned Sabah, Sarawak and even the southern tip of Indonesia. So the claim of the Philippines over Sabah was baseless.
Soekarno started to send his men into Borneo, Sarawak and West Malaysia and we had to deal with all these infiltrations. Our allies were tied down by the Geneva Convention and were unable to help us unless there was an open declaration of war or a direct open attack on Malaysia.
By the help of Allah, we had the better of them. Our security and armed forces put up a wonderful fight and kept Soekarno’s men out or took them prisoners.
We started our independence in a hard way, first fighting against the Communists and next against Soekarno. It could be said Malaysia was born under very severe crises, but by the help of Allah, the loyalty of our people, the courage of our armed forces and the support received from our allies, we survived.
In fact, it was the first time that any country faced with Communist insurrection had won a convincing victory against them.
That was 29 years ago. The first decade of independence was the golden age for Malaysia. The economic situation gave everyone in this country a good life. Our business was booming and our rural development productive.
Despite this, some were not contented with what they were getting, and so it was that we were forced to part company with Singapore in 1965.
Violence
As a result of the separation, I became somewhat unpopular with the “Young Turks” who wanted me to take action against Lee Kuan Yew.
One thing led to another. May 13, 1969, saw the outbreak of violence between the races not experienced before. This had been the work of our enemies, the Malayan Communist Party, who exploited the prevailing situation.
The caretaker government had allowed the Communists to hold a funeral procession of a dead comrade shot by the police in Kepong. But they provoked the security forces and others by the violence of their demonstration.
Then the May 13 incident broke out, though I am happy to say that it had been confined to the federal capital of Kuala Lumpur. That was a big lesson to all, and since then there has been no further violence, and pray God it will not happen again.
I left the service in September 1970. The economic situation then was good and I was able to buy my house in Penang cheaply, but within five months there was a price hike. The houses had increased five–fold in value. I was lucky to buy one or two houses with the balance of the money I received as gratuity from the government.
After that, I was asked by His Majesty the late King Feisal to organise Muslim unity and I left this country to take up residence in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, where I helped form the Organisation of Islamic Conference (OIC). Later I set up the Islamic Development Bank.
While celebrating this 29th anniversary of Merdeka, we must give our thoughts to those who gave their loyalty and service to the cause of Malayan independence. There was no knowing then what would happen to them.
If we had failed, then our cause would have been lost, and the independence handed to us by the colonial masters would have been on the terms laid down by them.
What those terms would have been we could not have imagined, but we could not have subscribed to them, and there would have been trouble.
Our independence has also brought independence to other countries. Independence was given to others in the hope that Britain would win them back as friends, as was the case with Malaya.
We will always remain a member of the Commonwealth, I hope, and subscribe to the principle of human rights.
May Allah bless Malaysia and our people.