HE spoke in a soft, measured tone. Never loud but always firm and clear and often repeated himself so we understood his message.
That’s how most of us who covered Tun Dr Ling Liong Sik during his time as Transport Minister and MCA president as reporters will remember the Chinese community leader.
We didn’t need to use our voice recorder at his press conferences as he always carried himself with a calm and almost understated presence.
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As a politician, he was not the loudest voice in the room, nor the quickest to offer a headline-grabbing quote.
Often, he would respond with just a smile and give a short rebuttal when criticised by the opposition, especially the DAP.
As reporters, we were hungry for controversies, and often pressed him for sharp answers.
Dr Ling would listen, pause, and then respond in his characteristically composed manner – never evasive, but never inflammatory. It was his way of reminding us that governance was not theatre.
He will be known as the gentleman minister who preferred quiet work over noise.
But in his quiet ways, he founded and raised funds to set up Universiti Tunku Abdul Rahman (UTAR) for students from all walks of life.
The donations came from hawkers to tycoons and naturally the government.
Today, UTAR with its gleaming and sprawling campus in Kampar will always be synonymous with Dr Ling.
A massive fund-raising campaign by Dr Ling for TAR College generated RM30mil, which, when matched ringgit-for-ringgit by the government, resulted in RM60mil for infrastructure expansion.
Together with his wife, Toh Puan Ena Ling, his pillar and strength, they raised funds for many causes through the Caring and Sharing Choir Group at fund-raising dinners.
Dr Ling provided tertiary education opportunities to working-class Malaysian families who could not get a place in public universities or could not afford education in private universities.
He started his career as a medical doctor with a private practice in Butterworth, Penang.
Dr Ling served as the Member of Parliament for Mata Kuching, now known as Bagan, from 1974 to 1986.
Like many doctors, he had an elephant’s memory with the ability to remember details and names – which became an asset when he entered politics.
Qualities like patience, diagnosis and the importance of steady hands also came useful.
Grassroots members and reporters loved him for remembering their names when they first met.
He had many firsts as a politician. He served for 17 years as the Transport Minister, overseeing the construction of the Kuala Lumpur International Airport (KLIA) and turning Port Klang into a global player, which is today one of the highest-ranked ports in the world.
It came at a time when Malaysia was building – airports, ports, highways – the infrastructure of a nation finding its economic footing.
Dr Ling was at the centre of that expansion, quietly overseeing decisions that would shape how Malaysians and goods moved for decades.
But what I remember most was not just his political or government works but the man himself.
He treated journalists with respect, even when the questions were uncomfortable.
Dr Ling never brushed off questions. He was never condescending or displayed irritation.
He opened the doors of his Bukit Damansara home to reporters, generously sharing his best whiskey with me and others.
Dr Ling was what we called “a banana” – yellow outside and white inside. Yet for someone who spent his years schooled in English education, he studied hard to improve his speech delivery in Mandarin.
Often before the annual party general assemblies, he would practise his presidential speech, written in pinyin, in front of a mirror – and on the actual day spoke in perfect Mandarin.
He studied Chinese classics to deepen his knowledge of Chinese history, realising his limitations.
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As another “banana” myself, he shared what he read about Romance of The Three Kingdoms, one of the most popular books in East Asia for its traditional wisdom, war strategies, political manoeuvring and historical insights.
At one point, Dr Ling even promoted kong ming lanterns or sky lanterns, which was traditionally attributed to military strategist Zhuge Liang (181-234 AD), who is said to have used a message written on a sky lantern to summon help on an occasion when he was surrounded by enemy troops.
Dr Ling also achieved a rare distinction, which will probably never come up again. Not many Malaysians will remember that Dr Ling held the post of acting Barisan Nasional chairman for over 10 days in February 1988.
But like many leaders who serve long enough, his career was not without storms.
The Port Klang Free Zone episode tested his reputation and resilience, placing him under intense public scrutiny. Yet even then, he remained composed, facing the process in his own unhurried way.
“When the courts eventually cleared him, it was less of a moment of triumph than one of quiet closure.
“That, perhaps, was quintessential Dr Ling – never one to claim vindication loudly, never one to seek sympathy either,” as one news report put it.
With Dr Ling’s passing, Malaysia has not just lost a former minister, but a public servant, one who believed in restraint, decorum, and the slow, steady work of nation-building.
As he ended his political career, I remember being invited for a small dinner at the Castell restaurant in Petaling Jaya, where he took the microphone and sang Que Sera Sera (whatever will be, will be), a popular 1950s song.
And for those of us who covered him, we will always remember a gentleman who never raised his voice, yet was always heard. Farewell Doc Ling.
