A forgotten day, and may it stay so

Nurses Day and Mothers Day were celebrated grandly last week, but the day between the two went largely forgotten. And that is a blessing.

LAST week, we celebrated a couple of important days. There was Nurses Day on May 12, and then there was Mothers Day on May 14. Both were significant, with the nightingales feted everywhere on Friday and children flocking to be with their mums on Sunday.

Coincidentally, there were also political gatherings on both days, with people of all communities rubbing shoulders at a stadium in Kelantan and at the Dewan Merdeka at the World Trade Centre.

There was one other day between those two days that went almost totally ignored, relegated to being just another insignificant date in the calendar. And I was happy about that.

May 13 has become a forgotten date. The days of racist bigots and ageing, opportunistic politicians using the date to threaten us look to be over. For that, I give thanks, just like I do for mothers and nurses. Both mean a lot to me.

Like almost everyone else, I had the perfect mum. She cooked like no one else could, and she cared like nobody else did. When I studied through the night, she would brew a pot of coffee and prepare biscuits to ensure I was okay. She was the last to go to bed and the first to wake, rousing everyone after preparing breakfast.

She was born in Taiping, Perak, on May 24, 1919; she would have been 104 this Wednesday if she were around. She died on April 7, 1979, when I was just a teenager. It was hard to lose Mum at such a young age, especially since Dad had died just over a year earlier. I have had many other “mothers” since then. Several sisters played that role, but they had their own children, the nephews and nieces I grew up with. Then there were mums of friends who embraced me as their own.

One such mum, a Malayalee woman, wanted to find me a bride from that community; the mother of a Sikh colleague (two colleagues, actually) would make the best chapati for me with channa masala while embracing me with a huge smile in the morning every time I stayed over.

Then there were the nurses. I have known quite a few, many of whom were motherly too. I owe them a lot. They cared for me when I was told I was dying and unable to fend for myself.

I remember two in Kuala Lumpur, one of whom painstakingly arranged pillows for me in such a way that I could sleep, although it felt like every inch of me was hurting and slumber was impossible. Another one – she was a bit short and had a shrill voice – slapped me and kept me awake as I lapsed in and out of consciousness and almost swallowed my tongue.

When I had somewhat recovered, I asked why she had slapped me. She explained to me, almost sheepishly, that she had saved my life. She had used violence against me and was sorry for it, although it was for my own good.

That was humbling.

Violence is also something ageing politicians with little to offer the country have been threatening us with, raising the spectre of what happened some 54 years ago just to get their way.

May 13, 1969, was indeed one of Malaysia’s darkest days. The racial riots that broke out back then led to the loss of hundreds of lives and the destruction of property and remain a blot on the country’s social landscape.

Official reports say 196 people died and 143 were wounded, but foreign diplomats estimate the dead alone to be around 800. Most of those who died were innocent victims who lost their lives for nothing.

I remember when, as a nine-year-old, I peeked out of the window at home to see bloodied men, some with slashed hands hanging loosely from their bodies, falling into the arms of the Senoi Praaq personnel stationed across the road in Penang. It was horrible.

However, politicians, many of them sore losers from the elections just before the riots, profited from that day. Almost overnight, the rules in the country changed, and many exploited these rules, not for the good of the community but to line their own pockets.

They kept the communities apart, with the May 13 Sword of Damocles hanging over our heads, all the while raking in the big bucks from government coffers. Former prime ministers have even admitted this, but none has done anything about it – yet.

The time has come for us to put that day well behind us. This year could be the watershed year. Next year, on the day’s 55th anniversary, we can hopefully know what really happened that day. Was it a coup d’etat as some claim? Was it planned? Or was it indeed a spontaneous outpouring of long-held anger? Were there politicians behind it?

Now could be the time to know the real truth – not the propaganda – honour the dead, and move on. The events around May 13 this year showed us that we can do so.

On May 12, some 15,000 people gathered at the Sultan Muhamad IV Stadium in Kelantan for the government’s open house. They were of all races and had no problems mingling with one another, even in a state known for its race-religion bias.

On May 14, many once-Opposition leaders, long vilified by the country’s Malay leaders, gathered at Umno’s Dewan Merdeka. It showed that even bitter enemies can become friends, and we can all be Malaysians, working together towards a common good.

It’s true that, as diverse communities with different outlooks and religions, we will have our differences.

Already, we see many issues being raised as we prepare for six state elections. In Penang, there was the azan in a condominium issue; in Ipoh, a school inexplicably decided that the saree – worn by millions in the deserts of Rajasthan in India – was not suitable for the Malaysian heat; and at the federal level, there is now the issue over the use of the word “Allah”.

But these are issues that we can talk about, discuss and come to an understanding of. Talking to each other helps.

When Tun Abdul Razak took over as prime minister after the events of 1969, he felt that unity could only be achieved with a fair distribution of wealth. That holds true even today.

However, the majority bumiputra then owned just 2.4% of the equity in the country. Things have changed now.

The current Prime Minister, when he was Opposition leader, said that a new approach to ensuring a fairer distribution of wealth among Malaysians is needed rather than the decades-old policy on bumiputra equity ownership. Narrow religious views and unhealthy rivalry among the country’s racial communities, he says, will only foment intolerance and extremism.

“We do not choose to be Malay, Chinese, Indian, Sabahan or Kadazan, so we have to accept this as a strength to unite all of us,” he has said.

It is a compelling argument.

The new government is called the unity government. We should be fostering unity and giving everyone a fair share of the bounty under the Malaysian sun. There is no need for a one-community-takes-all kind of policy, and no, the Malays are not about to lose their political power; their rights are not being taken away, and a government that includes people of all races is not one that deprives the majority bumiputra of their leadership role.

Those who proclaim any such thing are deluded. Or still caught in the old rhetoric of May 13.

We need to shed these attitudes. We can talk about our problems, sort them out, and live together as one nation. The May 13 bogeyman must be consigned to the dust heap of history. Or maybe just to our history books.