©Sunday Star (Used by permission)
by Prabhakaran S. Nair
Last Sunday, the birthday of Tunku Abdul Rahman Putra passed unnoticed in the midst of dramatic political developments. The commemoration of Tunku’s birth could have provided a perfect occasion for Malaysians to reflect on our ideals and aspirations as a nation made up of people of different races, cultures and religions.
THE birth of Tunku is a story of compassion that Menjelara, his mother, never tired of recounting. According to various sources, the story is that before Tunku was born, his father (the Sultan of Kedah) had sentenced the Keeper of the Royal Seal to death, and ordered that the right thumb of his wife and that of all his children be severed. This was punishment for deceitfully misusing the royal seal to sell state land for personal gain.
Being a loving mother herself, Menjelara could feel her pain and sorrow, and promised to speak to the Sultan. But she knew she could not directly ask him or intervene in his prerogative.
Menjelara thought of an idea. She lied to the Sultan that she was pregnant, and expressed her fear that if he proceeded with the punishment, their unborn child might be born without a thumb, or perhaps without a limb.
Her arguments were helped by an age–old belief that the husband should do no evil during his wife’s pregnancy, otherwise something bad may come upon the unborn child. The Sultan ordered the dishonest official to be imprisoned instead, and revoked the sentence on the rest of the family.
It was now Menjalara’s turn to be worried. She had lied to the Sultan, and she was afraid he would discover the truth. She prayed fervently, and fortunately became pregnant soon after. The child, who was conceived in the womb of the compassionate queen, was named Rahman, meaning “compassionate”.
Interestingly, the words “womb” and “compassion” have a common root in Arabic, suggesting that the womb is not just the seat of life, but also the dawning place of compassion.
The people in Kedah believe that Menjelara’s act of compassion had enabled her to conceive, and that her own qualities of compassion, generosity and open–heartedness were passed on to the child.
True to his name, Tunku did grow up to be a man of great compassion, with a forgiving nature. His life story came to reflect the three most important duties of a human being: “The first is to be kind. The second is to be kind. And the third is to be kind.” (Henry James)
Tunku’s compassion came to be reflected in a number of ways at different times in his life. The people came to know their prince better during the war years, when the first escapees of the notorious Burma death railway staggered back to Kedah, emaciated and diseased. Tunku responded to official inaction by setting up the Rumah Miskin (Home for the Poor), and providing the victims with food and medical care.
He eventually contracted an infection, but looked upon the suffering as a symbol of his association with the poor. He continued to ignore the risk and never failed to receive them at his home. In later years, Tunku became sentimental whenever he remembered the home, saying that it was the prayers of the victims that contributed largely to his becoming Prime Minister (The Star, Sept 30, 1992.)
After his law studies in England, he joined the Attorney–General’s Chambers. Stories have been told, as in the Bangkok Post Dec 8, 1990 report, about how, as Deputy Public Prosecutor, he used to “dip into his own pocket to pay the fines of people he had convicted.”
The story of Tunku’s compassion can sometimes be dramatic too, as illustrated in his encounter with a shabbily dressed passer–by at Merdeka Stadium while it was being built. The passer–by came up to Tunku and, drawing attention to his tattered shirt, lamented that he could not afford to buy one. The bystanders were shocked when, in the middle of the banter, the Tunku took off his own shirt and handed it to the passer–by.
This gesture caught the attention of S.H. Tan, a reporter who observed, “No wonder Tunku is so popular with everybody – from Sultans to vagrants. He would have given his last shirt to you – if you needed it.” (Malay Mail, July 10, 1957).
A moving story is sometimes told of how Tunku gave up hunting, a favourite hobby of many years. In a report in The Star, Nov 10, 1992, it was said that the scene of three tiny chicks looking pathetically at a dead jungle fowl wrenched his heart, and he vowed never again to hold a gun. Soon after the incident, Tunku exchanged his gun for the camera.
No boundary
Tunku’s compassionate and forgiving nature was evident soon after his party won the 1955 general election. When a Cabinet Minister urged Tunku to sack a civil servant for victimising party supporters, Tunku merely replied, “I am not going to do that, because God has given us victory, and in this hour of triumph I should be giving thanks to Him and humbling myself in prayer.” Tunku even went on air to announce his position on this matter (Straits Times, Nov 7, 1967).
Tunku’s compassion extended even to the sworn enemies of the state. At the height of the Communist insurgency, when the British acted against the people of Tanjong Malim for supporting the communists, Tunku condemned the punishment as being too harsh and even threatened to raise a motion against it in the Legislative Council, noted John Cloake in his book, Templer, Tiger of Malaya (London: Harrap, 1985, p.223).
Just before independence, and shortly thereafter, Tunku offered amnesty to the terrorists, arguing that punishment was not the only method of dealing with the enemies. The strategy paid off, resulting in the surrender of hundreds of Communists who provided the Government with valuable intelligence. An article in The Times (London) on Nov 19, 1959 noted Tunku as saying that: “The war against the Communists in Malaya could not have been won without that little bit of humanity.”
Tunku also believed that punishment should only be meted out as a last resort, and wrong–doers must be given the opportunity to reform.
He once said, “we can fight the Communists, we can shoot them without any remorse, but to shoot one schoolboy would be a tragedy and crime for which we cannot forgive ourselves, because these boys do not know what they are doing.” (Straits Times, April 18, 1959)
The sincerity of his words was put to the test during the Confrontation with Indonesia, when 13 youths were sentenced to death for treason. Tunku intervened, securing royal pardon for the detainees. The opportunity to save the young lives had been irresistible, and he reasoned that they were after all simple youths with no mind of their own.
His act of compassion, however, drew criticism from his own party members for what they perceived to be Tunku’s weakness in yielding to political pressure.
But Dr Tan Chee Khoon, an opposition party leader, hailed Tunku’s independent stand, saying “all right–thinking Malaysians must have heaved a sigh of relief and a large number of foreigners and foreign organisations, too would be thankful for the Premier’s act of mercy and compassion.” (Straits Times, July 29, 1968)
Peace loving
Tunku’s determination to uphold the principle of compassion against ideological or nationalistic considerations, and his decision to act against the grain of popular sentiment were demonstrated once again when he decided to dismiss Singapore from Malaysia in a peaceful manner in order to forestall the possibility of racial unrest in the country.
In his words, “I have risked my reputation and life to save the lives of others in order to maintain peace and to recreate goodwill. As a proof, rightly or wrongly, I have had to give up an important slice of Malaysian territory in order to maintain peace and save human lives. I have always believed in providing food instead of bullets, clothing instead of uniforms and homes instead of barracks.” (Speech to Leaders of Malaysian Churches, March 15, 1970)
His anti–war sentiment was so strong that Tunku even caused a stir in the free world when reporters asked what his options were if a Communist army were to invade Malaysia. Tunku’s answer was simple: He would surrender, as he did not want his people to die. (In a private interview with me, however, the late Yap Chin Kwee, his former political secretary, claimed that Tunku’s statement was calculated to reaffirm Britain’s commitment to the defence of Malaysia, and also to humour the reporters.)
Dr Chandra Muzaffar, an academic and social activist who had contacts with Tunku in his later years, cited an example of Tunku’s overriding concern for humanitarian ideals. When Brunei refused to join the proposed Malaysian Federation in the early 60s, a senior British Cabinet Minister suggested that Tunku could take over the tiny British protectorate by force, and Britain would discreetly acquiesce with the move.
Tunku is alleged to have told the Minister, “How can I deprive a little kingdom of its right to be what it wants to be? Even the smallest of God’s creatures in this Universe has the right to live.” (Prince Among Men, National Archives of Malaysia, 2006)
Similarly, during the Confrontation, when Tunku appealed for assistance against Indonesian aggression, the British offered to provide Malaysia with the pretext for war by exploding its own warship in the Straits of Malacca and blaming it on Indonesia.
Being a man of compassion, Tunku certainly did not want to see a neighbouring country destroyed by a powerful nation, regardless of the justification for war. He reasoned that his quarrel was only with Soekarno, and not the people of Indonesia, who were his ‘brothers’. (Quoted in Said Zahari, Dark Clouds at Dawn, A Political Memoir, Insan, 2001)
Such then has been Tunku’s life of compassion, and it is hoped that in tribute to him, all Malaysians will commit to the spirit of freedom and compassion that he embodied.
The writer is the director of Pustaka Wira Negara of the National Archives Malaysia.