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©New
Straits Times (Used by permission)
by Rehman Rashid
DO you not care for the truth? (One might use the royal "we" but I for one do,
so on your head be it.) Would you not wish to base your judgments on what is
true?
The truth is not the preserve of those with the loudest
voices. Neither is it determined by popular vote.
A lie remains a lie no matter how many believe it -- be it to the point of
staking their lives, their children's future and the honour of their ancestors
upon it.
It's a simple, universal, axiomatic truth: truth is not democratic. It cares
nothing for consensus.
Determining the truth requires shedding all that iconoclastic nonsense.
Sentiment and emotion, so influential in the democratic
process, only obstruct the impartiality needed to winnow the grain of truth from
the chaff of opinion.
As impartiality is considered beyond the capacity of any mortal individual,
since time immemorial -- from councils of elders to supreme courts of justice --
it has been entrusted to institutions.
Democracy is a process that would be impossible without the support of
necessarily undemocratic institutions.
Such as, say, that venerable bastion of impartiality, the judiciary.
In this context, let "judiciary" signify something rather broader, wider and
deeper than just the learned brethren of the bench.
This is the judiciary that extends all the way down to the small-town street:
the commissioners for oaths, the fillers of forms and stampers of stamps; those
involved in every signed contract, notarised agreement and transaction of
monies; every sworn testimony, police report and statutory declaration.
Every statement and event, in other words, that is granted the authority of
being formally documented and verifiable fact, and therefore a bona fide
component of the system by which society establishes the truth of statements and
events.
An honour code applies, however. As all institutions are created by We the
People in one form or another, their authority -- indeed, their very existence
-- is a hologram projected by our collective faith.
We respect them because we created them expressly to be so respected.
Treat them with disrespect, abuse and mock them, use them to nefarious ends, and
like sandcastles on the incoming tide they crumble into nothingness.
The Police Report, for instance, has for so long been dulled into a blunt
instrument for the settlement of domestic disputes, neighbourhood qua-rrels,
personal grudges, political problems and psychiatric disorders, entire sections
of the Police Department now exist expressly to deal with such things. It's a
crime, really.
But where would we be without your friendly neighbourhood commissioner for
oaths, in his shoplot cubicle with his prized rack of rubber stamps, empowered
to attest to the veracities of life?
It ought to have been almost heart-warming that amid the cacophony of uninformed
opinion and vile allegations debasing the ideal of free speech in this country,
recourse should still have been sought from that old pillar of society at his
desk under the angsana tree, the petition writer, duly to certify the veracity
of an assertion.
Play Taps and snap a sad tabik spring, then, to that stalwart old soldier of
justice, for so long a watchman over our locus standi, the Statutory
Declaration.
Goodbye, faithful footman. We shall miss your handlebar moustache and ramrod
stance, your unfailing loyalty and virtue, and the twinkle in your eye that
reassured us our truths were safe with you; that with you on our side, no one
could ever doubt our solemnly sworn word.
Another brick falls from the walls of national institutions blasted by the
blaring brass horns of popular contempt.
The edifice of justice crumbles in the acid rain of disdain. The papers and
stamps are ruined and worthless.
Someone is lying, someone knows who, but who?
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