POLITICS IN MALAYA IN THE IMMEDIATE POST-WAR PERIOD

A few weeks after my return from Australia, I already had the feel of politics in Malaya. My analysis of the events, occurring at that time was as follows: there was an awakening among countries under colonial rule after the Second World War. Nationalism, which was suppressed by the colonial powers before World War II, seized the opportunity created by the havoc and dismay of war to rear its head. It did so in Southeast Asia and its manifestations were so clear that those who were keen observers could not fail to see them. Malaya was heading for independence, of this I was certain. What I was not certain of was how long it would be before she finally achieved it. As I saw it, the pace would be dictated by the national leaders while the British would try their best to thwart them.

There was not a doubt that the man of the moment then was Dato Onn. He had mobilized Malay nationalism and directed it against the British. The question was how far he was prepared to go against the British — would he be prepared to lead the country to full independence or would he stop once Malay rights were restored? As a Malay leader, he was brilliant, and would have been eminently successful if the Malays formed an absolute majority in this country. He was not, however, big enough to face the realities of Malayan politics. Although towards the peak of his career he tried a Malayan solution rather than a Malay solution to the political situation in Malaya, he was not successful because he did not believe in what he was doing.

At this time, there were about half a dozen returned students living in and near Johor Bahru, including myself. We called our group “The Malay Graduates’ Association”. We used to meet fairly regularly to discuss politics. I usually get inspiration and ideas during the course of discussion and it was during such an occasion that this thought passed through my mind: I felt that if intellectuals such as ourselves wanted to play a role in the movement for independence, we had to be active in the right way and not be passive.

Mohamed Tawfik bin Tun Dr Ismail faithfully donated his father's papers to the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies (ISEAS) in March 2005 after being convinced by his old friend, Ambassador Verghese Mathews, that they would be well taken care of there. The then-director of ISEAS, Mr K. Kesavapany, happily embraced the documents, and since then, two books have been published by the Institute, based on these papers.

Newly arrived at ISEAS, I was lucky enough to be chosen to write the biography of the man, based on these papers and a large number of interviews with people who had known him well. These included Singapore's first Prime Minister, Lee Kuan Yew, and Malaysian billionaire, Robert Kuok. With the able assistance from Tawfik Ismail, the book was done within eighteen months.

The Reluctant Politician: Tun Dr Ismail and His Time (2006) became an instant bestseller when Malaysia's The New Straits Times immediately carried excerpts from it for seven days in a row. Singapore's The Straits Times followed suit soon after, disseminating sections from the book for five days. Malaysian bloggers began discussing the late Deputy Prime Minister's sense of duty and honour following a stimulating book launch on 22 March 2007 at Danga Bay in Johor Bahru. This launch was most ably organized by Karim Raslan Associates, with another former Deputy Prime Minister, Tun Musa Hitam, gracing the event as the keynote speaker.

WITH THE HELP OF REVIEWERS

What, for me, were very gratifying reviews and discussions appeared in most newspapers, online news outlets, and blog sites in Malaysia and Singapore in the following months. To give readers an idea of how the book was discussed, an academic review by Professor John Funston is included in this present volume, with his kind permission and that of the Journal of the Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society, in which it was published.

The Reluctant Politician went on to win in 2008 the Award of Excellence for Best Writing Published in Book Form on Any Aspect of Asia (non-fiction) at that year's Asian Publishing Convention. It was translated into Malay in 2007, and published as Bukan Kerana Pangkat: Tun Dr Ismail dan Masanya (SIRD and ISEAS). A Chinese version is expected to be ready by 2016.

For some of us in the delegation, this was our first trip to London. We arrived in October and were housed in St. James’ Court as guests of Her Majesty's Government. It always amuses me even now as I reminisce, that some people thought we were housed in St. James's Palace instead of a hotel where the British government usually place their overseas guests.

This was also my first trip to London. I had heard so much of London from Suleiman who spent no less than six years there. We lost no time in sampling London: its night life, its shopping centres and, above all, its girls. I always tell my friends that of all my trips abroad — I have travelled no less than six times around the world — I liked this first trip to London the best.

Our delegation was composed of men who got on well together both at official meetings and at social functions. As I said some of us were in London for the first time and were enjoying the big city as children would. The rest, who had been students there, like the Tunku and Razak, were kind enough to guide us throughout our stay.

From the time that we landed at London airport, it was obvious that our mission was going to be a success because a certain high official in the Colonial office told us that what we came for would be handed over to us on a gold platter. The Colonial secretary then was Mr Lennox Boyd (now Lord Boyd) and he and the Tunku hit it off well together.

The meeting was conducted in a typical fashion: there was a main meeting called the plenary meeting and in addition, there were the meetings of the various committees. I remember that in addition to attending the plenary meeting (which all members of the delegation attended), I attended meetings of the Finance Committee and the Civil Service Committee. The chairman of the Finance Committee was Sir Hilton Poynton and he was a hard nut to crack. At the Civil Service Committee, we succeeded in drafting a scheme of compensation for the expatriate civil servants in Malaya; the ease with which the Malayan Civil Service was transferred from the hands of the expatriates is a tribute to the soundness of the scheme.

I entered the medical college in Singapore ill-prepared for it. The only students who were prepared were from schools such as the Penang Free School, the St. John's and Victoria Institutions in Kuala Lumpur, and the Raffles Institution and Anglo-Chinese School of Singapore. These students were taught physics and chemistry in school, two subjects which were and still are essential for first year study in medicine. As for myself, when I first attended lectures in physics and chemistry, I did not even know what friction or oxygen meant. I was very frustrated and became even more so later on when I learnt that the annual examinations were held not only on a competitive basis, but also in such a way that only a certain number of students would be allowed to progress to the next stage. In addition to this restrictive practice on academic life, there were other restrictions which were peculiar only to centres of higher learning in the colonies. Students in medical school in Singapore were not treated as grown-ups but rather as schoolchildren. It was therefore not surprising that the professors adopted the attitude of schoolmasters towards their students who, in turn, were expected to behave like schoolchildren. An example was their having to ask the permission of the professor if they ever needed to perform a simple act. There was one amusing incident I can recall. It was my practice, whenever I could afford it, to go with a few friends to a cabaret where we danced with the hostesses by paying with coupons. Invariably, there was strong competition to dance with the currently popular hostesses. Clients were allowed to approach the hostesses only when the music began to play. Consequently, at the first sound of the band playing, there was a mad rush in the direction of the popular hostesses. One evening, I was in the midst of one of these rushes. To my surprise, I found myself standing directly in front of the most popular hostess. As I was dancing away I happened to look behind and saw a face red with anger. It was the face of one of my professors, who had expected me to step aside and give way to him to dance with the hostess.

Nation building is often assumed. Unless one happens to be intimately involved, the details are not obvious; certainly not to the man in the street, let alone to the young and far-removed generations. The rough-and-tumble of competing visions and political manoeuvrings are conducted mostly behind the scenes and away from the public eye. Much of this is not reported by the media or even recorded for posterity. Thus, nation building may seem mysterious to some and non-existent to many others.

It is only when one reads the writings of those in the thick of things that one begins to understand the dilemmas, complexities, and uncertainties. It is then that one starts to appreciate the dimensions of the problems and the qualities of the people involved. Intelligence, knowledge, and skill are commonly not enough to arrive at the desired outcomes. Values, beliefs, and principles are equally critical, as are the conviction and firmness in holding onto them.

If the nation-building process is not always apparent, their results most definitely are. The difference between national unity and disunity, administrative effectiveness and dysfunction, and prosperity and poverty are not so much driven by policy pronouncements as the strength of the consensus that led them to be crafted in the first place. Force, coercion, and threats are rarely effective in sustained nation building.

In Drifting into Politics: The Unfinished Memoirs of Tun Dr Ismail Abdul Rahman, readers are taken on a first-hand journey into the behind-the-scenes tumult that preceded Independence, the formation of the Federation of Malaya and Malaysia, and post- May 1969. One sees how, at each stage, things could have so easily gone down a different path and gone badly wrong were it not for a handful of men who thought nothing of putting their careers, families, and ultimately even their lives on the line.

Tun Dr Ismail Abdul Rahman was such a man. He worked hard to achieve his personal ambition of being a medical doctor, but just when he was in a position to reap the rewards, he yielded to the call of a cause bigger than himself: first, independence, and then nation building. This may seem quaint and old-fashioned by the values of today but nothing could be further from the truth.

This book has been a Malaysian publishing sensation. It was an instant bestseller. In launching its Malay language edition, the Raja Muda of Perak, Raja Dr Nazrin Shah, was moved to tears by remembrance of how much Tun [Dr] Ismail had contributed to the nation, and how much more still needed to be done.

Tun Dr Ismail bin Dato Haji Abdul Rahman is a worthy subject for a political biography. After completing a medical degree in Australia, he became a Johor state councillor in 1948, joined the United Malays National Organisation (UMNO) in 1951, and then in 1953 became party representative in the Federal Legislative Council with portfolio responsibilities for Lands, Mines, and Communications. He continued to hold ministerial responsibilities thereafter through to [his] retirement in 1967. At the same time, he helped shape the UMNO independence struggle, was returned in the first national election in 1955, then became the first ambassador to the United States and the United Nations for over twelve months after independence in 1957. Returning to Malaya, he took on the External Affairs portfolio; then in November 1960 he began a long association with security issues, first as minister of a new internal security ministry, then from February 1962, in home affairs. Forced to retire by ill health, he joined the boards of several multinationals, and gave speeches on the neutralization of Southeast Asia.

Recalled to government after the tragic racial riots of May 13, 1969, he held leading positions during emergency rule in both the National Operations Council and the Cabinet, and became Deputy Prime Minister in September 1970. Seemingly destined for Malaysia's highest political office, he was struck down by a heart attack in August 1973. It helps the biographer's cause that apart from being a statesman, Tun [Dr] Ismail led a colourful and adventurous life. He was born into politics as a member of the Johor aristocracy. His father was the state treasurer of Johor, then first president of the Malayan Senate, and three brothers all had important political roles. He was brought up in a multiracial environment, establishing close friendships with the Kuok and Puthucheary families, which lasted a lifetime. A grandmother was half-Chinese, and his family adopted nine Chinese girls (a common practice in well-off Malay families in those days).

The election of 1959 was a test of whether the Alliance would survive as a coalition party of the three races in the country — the Malays, Chinese and Indians. The MCA was, at that time, led by Dr Lim Chong Eu, a doctor from Penang, who had shown up to that time, a degree of brilliance in politics. Unfortunately, during his stewardship of the MCA, he tried to get away from the foundations which had hitherto held the Alliance together: citizenship for the Chinese in return for their acceptance of Malay as the national language. On the eve of the elections, he tried to demand more seats for the MCA rather than agree to the accepted method of allocation of seats used by the Alliance in previous elections. I tried my best to effectuate a compromise, but failed. As is often the case in times of crisis, the Tunku was firm and refused to yield: he said that he would not give in to threats and that he would stick by the old formula even if only a handful of MCA members remained in the party. The Alliance fought the elections without the support of Dr Lim and his followers and won by a handsome majority.

When the Alliance formed the Government after the 1959 elections, I was again allotted the Ministry of External Affairs. I pursued the same policy as before the elections with instructions to the Ministry and our missions abroad to consolidate rather than enlarge our activities.

After the election, Tunku went to England and later to Europe. In Europe, he had a long talk with Charles de Gaulle who was embarking on his own independent policy. De Gaulle convinced the Tunku that communist China should be recognized and admitted to the United Nations. Without consulting me and the Cabinet, Tunku, on his arrival in Kuala Lumpur, announced a sudden change in our policy towards communist China. At that time, we had refused to recognize either China or Russia. When the Cabinet met, I told them that I could not accept the new policy towards communist China and that I proposed to resign.

Shortly before Merdeka was declared, the Tunku spoke to me about going to Washington, D.C., as our country's first ambassador to the United States of America and at the same time, accredit myself to the United Nations as Malaya's first permanent representative. He said the choice was between Razak and me and honestly, he said, he could not spare Razak as he wanted him in Malaya to assist him. When I accepted the offer, relatives and friends speculated that I had been banished. This thought never occurred to me. It satisfied me to be offered a position which would enable our newly independent country to be known abroad.

As is usual with me, when I took on the assignment I threw my heart and soul into the job. It was a tough assignment and not made any easier by the lack of prior government preparation. In fact, I had to set up the two missions from scratch. The Tunku sent me about two weeks before independence to the United States to look for suitable buildings in Washington and New York for our mission. In doing so, I felt we must not seem bigger than we actually were. Our Embassy had to conform to our status noticeable without ostentation. I managed to buy three buildings in Washington for the Embassy and secured a lease for our office in New York. It was fortunate that I went as a Minister of the Cabinet, with authority to negotiate on the spot, otherwise the whole negotiation would not have been completed as quickly as it had been. (There was a sidelight to this episode: when I arrived back in Kuala Lumpur, I was told at the airport that the Cabinet had sanctioned the purchase of two, instead of three, buildings in Washington. As Cabinet was sitting in the afternoon of the day of my arrival, I attended the sitting and managed to persuade the Cabinet to sanction the purchase of the third building.)

Our journey to Washington was partly nerve-racking, partly humorous, but never dull. Our party consisted of four women, nine children and thirty-one pieces of luggage, and only two men: Ismail bin Mohamed Ali (now a Tan Sri and the Governor of Bank Negara) and myself.

When Dato Onn left the party, the leadership fell into the hands of Tunku Abdul Rahman who, it is commonly believed, was persuaded by Tun Razak to accept the leadership.

The first time I met the Tunku was in Kuala Lumpur when my wife and I were on our way to Penang for our honeymoon. On one of the evenings when we were in Kuala Lumpur, we were invited by my friend, Mr Eugene Seow, who was an architectural student with me in Australia, to his flat. When we arrived, we saw a man drinking gin in the corner. We were introduced to him and I was struck by his friendliness, charm, and unassuming ways. Without hesitation, he invited all of us to spend the evening with him at the Kuala Lumpur Flying Club. He kept us there until he was told that we were on honeymoon. In typical fashion he bundled us off telling us that we had no business being on the dance floor so late when we should be in bed enjoying our honeymoon.

When the Tunku took over the leadership of UMNO, the Malay Graduates’ Association received a message from him asking it to nominate a member to serve on the Central Executive Committee of the party and he mentioned his preference for me. I was at this time an established medical practitioner in Johor Bahru and a member of the Johor State Council, the only one who was not an UMNO member: I was nominated a member of the Council on the establishment of the Federation of Malaya in 1948. One of the first things I did in the Council was to oppose the establishment of the Federation because it was constitutionally illegal, especially with regard to the Johor Constitution and I pointed out that I wanted my objection recorded in the proceedings of the Council. It was also while I was a member of the Council that Dato Onn tried to persuade me to join UMNO and said that if I agreed to do so, he would nominate me as a member of the Federal Legislative Council. I tried to reject him at first by politely stating that I was not prepared to sacrifice my medical practice to become a full-time politician.

The growing strength of the Alliance both as shown in its success at the polls and by the increasing number of its supporters was not without notice from the colonial administrators, especially Sir Gerald Templer, a shrewd and able man. When Sir Gerald became High Commissioner, the Tunku and myself were made members of the Federal Legislative Council. The Tunku was also made a member of the Executive Council.

During the period from 1948 to 1955, the Federal Legislative Council consisted of official members and nominated members. The nominated members were appointed by the High Commissioner to represent various “interests” in the country, but apart from European members who represented British commercial and industrial interests, the majority of members until Dato Onn left UMNO were either members of UMNO or the MCA. After the Tunku took over the leadership of the party, there were only a handful of UMNO members left; the others had followed Dato Onn.

Looking back now on the old Federal Legislative Council, it can be generally said that its members were on the whole able men and if it had not been for the fact that the contentious theme for the period was that of independence, they would have served the country quite well. The President of the Council, Mr Donald MacGillivray, was an able, shrewd administrator, typical of the breed which the colonial office was sending out at that period to her troubled colonies. The Chief Secretary, Sir David Watherston, was a conscientious civil servant whose behaviour and attitude was more of a priest than a civil servant. Sir Michael Hogan, the Attorney General, was a brilliant Irishman who must have kissed the Blarney Stone much earlier than any ordinary Irishman because his eloquence was supreme and this, coupled with his wit and superb presentation of his case, made him admired and respected by all. Among the Asian members, Mr Yong Shook Lin was noted for his clear advocacy and the sing-song style of his oratory; Dato E.E.C. Thuraisingham for his verbosity about nothing; and Dato Onn for his superb eloquence both in English and Malay.

As for us UMNO and MCA members of the Council, we were more interested in the political issues which were debated in the Council.

We did not neglect our aim of achieving independence at the time when we were strengthening the party and building the Tunku as a leader. We met regularly at my house in Johor Bahru. When I said “we”, I meant the Malay Graduates’ Association, but the ones who attended the meetings regularly were Encik Suffian and myself. The two of us would prepare a paper which was discussed with the Tunku and other members of the Association.

I was keen to follow the footsteps of Ghana which just had the status of self-government conferred on them and which was then on the eve of her independence. We concluded that the most important thing was to hold national elections and that if the pro-Merdeka party swept the elections, independence was a certainty.

At this time General Sir Gerald Templer, the High Commissioner of Malaya, was also talking of holding elections but he was thinking of holding them at the village pump level, thereby introducing democracy at the grass-roots level.

We disagreed for two reasons: first, we were convinced that this was a delaying tactic on the part of the British and second, we were convinced that elections at the village level would not be successful and today we are proven right because very few elected local councils are successful.

However, we were not going to let the elections proposed by Templer remain uncontested by us because we were also aware that these elections provided a means of testing our strength and also our popularity with the people.

The introduction of elections brought great change to the political scene. Dato Onn had, by this time, started his Independence of Malaya Party (IMP) and his timing was such that it was in readiness for the Kuala Lumpur municipal election. One of the persons whom Dato Onn disliked, and who disliked him in return, was Mr H.S. Lee (later Tun Sir Henry Lee). Their dislike of each other was so bitter and so personal that each was bound to oppose whatever the other did. Henry Lee, at that time, had control of the Chinese guilds in Selangor and, as such, he was in control of the Malaysian Chinese Association (MCA).

I was in the United States from August 1957 till December 1958. I returned to Malaya via Italy and arrived in Kuala Lumpur in January 1959. I had towards the end of 1958 written to Tunku of my decision to return and contest the Parliamentary Election of 1959. He agreed to my request. Although I returned to Malaya after only an absence of oneand- a-half years, I saw progress which could not have taken place if Malaya was still a colony. I was also quite pleased to note that although I had been away, my political stock in the party and the country was high.

The Tunku had decided on my return to go on leave, to work for the party to ensure that we won the forthcoming elections with a big majority. He assigned me to the Ministry of External Affairs where I decided that our foreign policy should pursue an independent line, by which I meant that our stand on international problems should not be influenced by the policies of other countries, big or small. I learned when I was at the United Nations — where in addition to being a member of the Commonwealth group, we belonged also to the Afro- Asian group — that the surest way to get into trouble was not to have a definite policy of our own on foreign issues because then we would be at the mercy of others. Although our policy of moderation in the United Nations did not get the approval of many members of the Afro-Asian group, we were respected because our policy was definite, logical, and consistent.

It was while I was Minister of External Affairs that I went to Jogjakarta to attend the Colombo Plan meeting. I met President Sukarno for the first (and only) time and heard him speak. What I saw of Indonesia then depressed me especially after I had discussions with Dr Subandrio on the Association of South Asia (ASA). He was interested only in bilateral economic arrangements in so far as his interest in economics (which was not very far) was concerned. He told me he did not care very much about the economy of Indonesia so long as the revolution remained unfinished.

After the return of the Merdeka mission from London, Malaya was launched into a short period of self-government from 1955 to 1957. Tunku Abdul Rahman became Chief Minister, Razak retained the Ministry of Education and I became Minister of Commerce and Industry.

The main events which dominated this short period of selfgovernment were the Tunku's meeting with Chin Peng and the work of the independent commission on the constitution.

Tunku was anxious for the state of emergency which had plagued Malaya for a decade to be over when independence was declared on 31 August 1957. In order to find out whether this was possible, he argued that it was essential for him to meet Chin Peng, the leader of the Communist Party of Malaya, and have a frank dialogue with him. As was usual when the Tunku decided on taking an unorthodox step to settle a political problem, he met with opposition. In this case, he was opposed by the British and also by many leaders of the Alliance, including myself. We were worried that in his anxiety to end the state of emergency, he might compromise himself to the extent that he might endanger the security of the country when independence was achieved. He was steadfast in his desire to talk with them and could not be dissuaded, so the next best thing was to ensure that when the meeting took place, the Tunku was well briefed and his security not endangered. Tunku himself was adamant that a safe passage be guaranteed for Chin Peng and his aides. It says much for the trust that Chin Peng had in the Tunku that he accepted the invitation to meet the Tunku knowing full well that he was throwing himself at the mercy of the Tunku and the British. As is well known by now, Chin Peng rejected Tunku's conditions on the offer of amnesty. For the Tunku, the meeting created a lasting impression. From that day onward, he was convinced that no peace was possible with the communists, and to quote his words, “it is either the communists or me”.

On the political front, the Alliance was busy trying to iron out the differences on communal issues. Hitherto the Alliance had been busy mobilizing the people on an emotional plane to support the cause of independence.

While I agreed to the notion that Malaysia should be formed by the Association of Malaysia, Singapore, Sabah, and Sarawak, I had many reservations about the way it was formed and the conditions which Singapore, Sabah, and Sarawak imposed for joining the new Federation. As Minister of Home Affairs, I objected to giving Sabah and Sarawak the control of immigration between themselves on one side and Malaya and Singapore on the other. I also opposed the Tunku's generous offer of forty seats in the Federal Parliament. It is true that I did not oppose it so strongly to the extent of resigning from the Cabinet. I am not trying to disclaim my part in the collective responsibility of Cabinet, which approved the formation of Malaysia. I write it down to show how my convictions in politics have changed since the days when we fought for independence and since the early days after independence. During that period, I was uncompromising in what I believed in. I had no strong convictions about how and under what conditions Singapore should join Malaysia. I felt that the only way Singapore could stay in Malaysia after joining it depended not so much on what was written in the constitution, but rather on how the two political parties, the Alliance and the PAP approached this new state of affairs. I was under the impression that the PAP was to govern Singapore to make it the “New York of Southeast Asia”, while the Alliance was to govern Malaysia and that the two would work closely together for the benefit of Malaysia as a whole. However, it was obvious that once Singapore was in Malaysia, the status quo which I hoped would continue was not possible. Personal jealousies and ambitions were so strong and the political approaches to communal problems were so divergent that either of two things was bound to happen: first, if Singapore continued to be a part of Malaysia, communal clashes of such a magnitude as to destroy Malaysia as an identity was bound to occur; second, if Singapore was separated by mutual agreement, the chances of cooperation and eventual union of the two countries was a certainty. As it turned out, the latter alternative happened. In spite of what was believed, the separation of Singapore from Malaysia was by mutual agreement.