© New Straits Times (Used by permission)
by Yeo Yang Poh
It happened in March 2005. Not many know, and fewer remember, the name Abdul Raqib Karim Razha. This young man did what most Malaysians would not. Raqib saw two armed robbers attacking a victim. He decided that he could not just stand and watch, nor walk away, which others around him did.
He intervened and in the process was stabbed by the robbers, and came close to losing his life.
His action, however, did not prevent the robbers from getting away with their loot. One could say that, from this perspective, his intervention was unsuccessful, and hence useless.
However, that would be a warped perspective.
Although, I dare say, few among us would have sufficient altruistic courage to do what he did; most of us will acknowledge the virtue and value of his act, "unsuccessful" though it might have been in a narrow sense.
For we realise that, in life’s journey from dust to dust, one can leave no tangible legacy apart from the shining warmth of the human spirit. It is the spirit that matters most. It is Raqib’s spirit that we want to honour. He is, fittingly, being considered for this year’s Young Humanitarian award.
When asked, he said that if the same thing were to happen again, he would repeat what he did.
It does not matter whether or not he wins the award. He is a Malaysian hero. Malaysian society recognises him as one.
But, do we acknowledge all other Malaysian heroes in equal fashion?
Let us shift our attention to March, 1988. Another Malaysian had witnessed sustained attacks on persons (and on an institution) under his charge. He decided to defend the victims. He did not just stand and watch, or walk away pretending he did not see.
His name is Tun Salleh Abbas. The institution he tried to protect was the Malaysian judiciary. The persons he tried to defend were persons holding important responsibilities, on whom all of us depended for justice.
Like Raqib, Salleh Abbas was "stabbed", figuratively speaking. He was given a choice; either he stepped aside (and by so doing abandon his oath to uphold justice), or he would be made to face the onslaught of a brute force that would pull the carpet from under his feet. He refused to be cowed.
Other Malaysian judges witnessed the attack on Salleh Abbas that followed. The message was clear. The same thing that was happening to their chief could happen to them too, if they chose not to "behave".
But there were independent and courageous judges around. Five of them answered the call of duty to do justice. They tried to stop the assault on Salleh Abbas.
They did not fold their arms or walk away. Like Raqib, they put aside their personal interest, and lived up to the highest state of the human spirit.
And, like Raqib, they were themselves attacked.
Salleh Abbas eventually lost his job. So did two of the five judges who tried to put the derailed train of justice back on track. All these judges are Malaysian heroes.
Their names, and the spirit they represent, should be cast in the consciousness of Malaysians: Salleh Abbas, Wan Sulaiman, George Seah, Eusofee Abdoolcader, Mohd Azmi, and Wan Hamzah.
The five judges did not succeed in preventing the maiming of the judiciary, just as Raqib’s attempt did not stop the robbery. But this again is beside the point.
When asked after his dismissal from office, the late Wan Sulaiman said that he would do the same thing all over again if the same circumstances presented themselves. He had no regrets. Yes, he lost his job. But he kept his dignity.
There are many who prefer to forsake their dignity to keep their positions.
All of them will one day find that every position is temporary and will have to be relinquished; and that every position, at the end of the day, is no big deal.
Dignity, on the other hand, lives on. Dignity matters, and matters most, if we consider ourselves different from the beasts that thrive and function by the law of the jungle, where the goal of survival justifies all actions.
Our nation as a whole has little difficulty in recognising Raqib as a hero, but lacks the same readiness when it comes to other heroes such as the ones I have mentioned.
Why is this so? Do we want to continue burying our heads in the sand, and be blind to the truth?
There may be unpleasant consequences for some, if the truth is allowed to surface. There may be political or other reasons why it is inconvenient to summon the suppressed spectres of the past. But should we forfeit our nation’s soul for reasons of expediency?
These judges sacrificed for us. Some of them lost their jobs. Others were put through unwarranted embarrassment. But we are ultimately the biggest losers.
And we will continue to be the biggest losers, unless and until we resurrect the truth, and do justice to the spirit that these heroes had upheld in the face of powerful adversities.
Yeo Yang Poh is president of the Malaysian Bar.