Being a member of Overseas Chinese Diaspora, I treasure how important to preserve one’s identity and one’s mother tongue in a minority environment. I thus have great empathy for Sir David. (David Tang Wing-cheung’s Cantonese is a rich and subtle language that must be preserved”, August 23)
Let me be clear, I am not in favor of suppressing Cantonese but I do take the stance to promote the use of Mandarin for the Chinese anywhere anytime.
I want to discuss about the spread of Mandarin usage outside the Mainland China by relating my family experience in the South East Asia. My parents received Chinese education in Mandarin at about the turn of 1960s, they still converse to each other in Mandarin, never mind that they are both Fukienise (Fujianese in Pinyin) by descent.
As a young child growing up in repressive environment in the 1980s, my generation was constantly reminded to speak more Mandarin and less vernacular when we went to school. This was true for Malaysia, Singapore and Brunei, the three former British colony in South east Asia.
Even the Indonesian Chinese who migrated to Hong Kong, most of whom left Indonesia between 1950s-1960s, Mandarin is still proudly spoken among them perhaps with an accent Sir David would perhaps regard as insufficiently good.
These show how readily the South East Asian Chinese accept Mandarin as their own common language. A big credit to all the pioneers and successive generation of Chinese educationist who have the foresight to install Mandarin as the unifying spoken language for the Chinese Diaspora. It was done without any political pressure from Beijing at all and with the consensus of all the major tribes of Chinese.The major resistance to Mandarin are perhaps among the Cantonese peoples. I am increasingly affirmed of my view that there is a sort of Cantonese-centrism in pocket where the Cantonese descent forms the majority. It is also very ironic that many prominent Cantonese would rather speak English than Mandarin.
I know this may be controversial. My own experience has been that the Cantonese speaking peoples tend to impose their own as the "lingua franca". This is true from Vancouver to Kuala Lumpur, not to mention Hong Kong.Cantonese speaking peoples instinctively regard Cantonese as more sophisticated than Mandarin or other vernacular which may be true. The often cited evidence is that the Tang Dynasty's poem is best read out in Cantonese than in Mandarin. The Cantonization phenomena in Kuala Lumpur, I believe, is largely attributed to the rise of Hong Kong pop music and TVB popular dramas from the late 1970s. The reasons are rooted in the perceived Cantonese superiority and the popularity of its pop culture.
Many of the Chinese who lived in Hong Kong today are not originally Cantonese. According to the local Fukien (Fujian in Pinyin) organization, there is more than a million Fujianese in Hong Kong. If we add up the more frequently encountered waves of immigrants or refugees from Chiu-chow (Chaozhou in Pinyin), Shanghainese and Hakka (many of whom are actually native in the New Territory), the non-Cantonese number is definitely very substantial in Hong Kong.However, their second generation are all converted into Cantonese speaking. This in large part is due to the British colonial policy in teaching the Chinese in Cantonese. There is only one school that teaches Mandarin uninterrupted from the 1950s until today. Such is the miserable state of Mandarin in Hong Kong.Upon the handover, the former Chief Executive, Mr. C.W Tung advocated and implemented the mother tongue language policy which was right but he got it wrong in that the mother tongue was presumed to be Cantonese. Mr Tung hails from Zhejiang.That's ironic and unfortunate for Hong Kong.
There were indeed many great scholars such as Professor Qian Mu (钱穆) who came to Hong Kong and set up the predecessor of what is now the Chinese University during those difficult years in 1950s . Yet Mandarin didn't stay as the mainstream.What I find most amusing is that even the latest arrivals from the Mainland are rushing to be Cantonized, at least in their name. When applying for their identity card, they happily swap their name from Pinyin to Cantonese spelling. Abandoning Pinyin spelling supposedly make them Hong Kongers. Maybe they are not aware that the local Hong Konger are adopting English names such as David as their own.Of course the social political backdrop between Hong Kong and Overseas Chinese Diaspora are very different. Retaining Cantonese in post-handover is seen as keeping the "2 systems" in the "one country". Prior to the handover, the local Hong Kongers with memory of constant turmoil and persecution in the Mainland from the Great Leap Forward to the Cultural Revolution and Tiananmen Incident, have their own reservation of anything Mainland and these surely include Mandarin that is seen as imposed top-down.
What is the state of Mandarin today?
Only after the handover that the children are beginning to learn Mandarin; and only after the SARs that the shopkeepers are beginning to speak Mandarin of an acceptable standard to the Mainland visitors.
I think it is either very clannish or very colonial for Sir David to claim that Hong Kong would fare better politically if we continue to use a language which the northerners did not understand. The word "northerner" is very segregationist last heard in the era of American Confederacy but I could find myself amused with the word as yet another Sir David's demonstration of caricature with great sense of humor.
The promotion of Mandarin in Hong Kong at least in the school as the main medium of instruction whilst teaching Chinese doesn’t deprive the cultural value of Cantonese. Cantonese as a vernacular like the Taiwanese will always be around, alive and kicking.
Showing posts with label Brunei. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Brunei. Show all posts
Monday, August 23, 2010
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Premier Wen Visiting My Old School
**Due to the earthquake in Qinghai earlier in the month, the Premier's visit to Brunei has been postponed**
** Post to be updated ** I am thrilled that Premier Wen will be visiting my old school - the Ching Hwa Middle School of BS Begawan - when he visits Brunei next April 22-23. Unimaginable! My niece is busy practicing a dance performance for the visit. This is a big moment for the humble little Chinese community that I come from and for the Chinese school which so many of my family gave so much for. My late father who was on the school board for 20+ years. My mother who was on the board briefly later on. I have aunts and uncles who grew up studying there, met each other, got married and later taught at the school. Both my parents, myself, my sister and all my children and my sister's children studied in the school, as are most of my cousins. Through it all, we donated to the school and rooted for it in competitions and brag about it when it produced excellent examination results. So much of my life is actually connected to the school which is why I am reflecting on this news with such great pride.
** Post to be updated ** I am thrilled that Premier Wen will be visiting my old school - the Ching Hwa Middle School of BS Begawan - when he visits Brunei next April 22-23. Unimaginable! My niece is busy practicing a dance performance for the visit. This is a big moment for the humble little Chinese community that I come from and for the Chinese school which so many of my family gave so much for. My late father who was on the school board for 20+ years. My mother who was on the board briefly later on. I have aunts and uncles who grew up studying there, met each other, got married and later taught at the school. Both my parents, myself, my sister and all my children and my sister's children studied in the school, as are most of my cousins. Through it all, we donated to the school and rooted for it in competitions and brag about it when it produced excellent examination results. So much of my life is actually connected to the school which is why I am reflecting on this news with such great pride.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
My Ah Pae 1927-2009
This post is personal and comes from a place that is heartfelt and full of wonderous memories. I wrote this late last January as the only way I could celebrate the memory of my late uncle who passed away on 19 January 2009. I sent it my sister who circulated it to the rest of my family during the wake. With this post, I hope a figment of my uncle (Ah Pae) forever exists in some servers the same way he remain in my memories and in my heart.
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My Ah Pae never really grew old. Although I have never known him as a young man, at heart he has always been a curious and even-tempered child. He has an easy bonhomie and always quick with a laugh or an interesting anecdotes. Despite that, beneath his cheerful and easy company, he was also by nature equally content to simply enjoys long stretches of time every day in his own company. He always seemed comfortable in his own skin, and especially in recent years came across to be in perfect acceptance of what life has given to him.
I remember him most for the countless hours of casual conversations we had and stories he had told me. They stood out from my childhood because of the special blend of curiosity, humour and equianimity in the way he viewed the world.
He often spoke about growing up in China living at the "fort end" of a walled village - where different family lived in their own houses-compounds, each with its own walls to guard against bandits. There was a stream outside the village gate where as a boy he would take the family's ducks out to feed. He said ducks are clever in that they know their way home, because at the day's end, all he had to do was to call out to the ducks and they would follow him home. Some ducks would get mixed up with those returning to other families but once that happen the duck would panic and cry out loudly. He said the geese were even smarter because they kept a look out outside homes - like guard dogs - and would bellow loudly whenever strangers comes near.
One trip I regret not taking was going with him to visit the ancestral village. Somehow this-and-that got in the way and later he had to have surgery to remove his bile. Moreover, he was also hesitant about the whole idea because he did not enjoy much his first return trip to the ancestral village. So many people, all claiming to be distant relatives?, invited them to their homes and presented them with red-dyed boiled eggs - and expecting a handout in return - it was all a little too stressful. Each time they were cornered, he and Ah Emm had to turn to speaking to one another in Malay to plot their escape!
I also remember his story from the time when he was among a band-of-boys doing odd jobs at the Japanese HQ during their occupation in Brunei. He said he had a special position because he had the key to the store room. While people outside had to skimp and save up their match-sticks, he had so much strewn around his room that he was roundly told off by Ah Chou (great grandma) for not valuing them properly when she visited him as he lay ill with malaria. Once day, the Japanese told him to expect an air raid so he went off to the riverside where he proudly constructed his own shelter. He dug a hole big enough to sit in and covered with some bamboo slats and grass. He thought it was all quite grand; until he saw a plane shooting a bullet right through a thick concrete wall a few feet before his eyes! He also told me thar it was during the war, when he learnt a secret technique (so he said) for roasting peanuts, one he picked up from observing the chefs when he was living above a coffeeshop where Ah Chek (my grandfather) was working for a time.
His natural curiousity meant that he made a wonderfully observant tourist in his latter years as he travelled through Southeast Asia, China, Europe and America. Anecdotes and stories from his travels are as varied as they come. Once he told me he learnt from a gourmet friend how to choose the best lobsters. Another time he told of the time when he persuaded the chefs at this famous Xiaolongpao restaurant to let him in on their secrets to making juicy xiaolongpaos. He loved talking about the special meals he tasted on his travels, particularly seafood. He talked about his experiences with the different airlines. He marvelled even at ordinary encounters, anything from outsized fruits, to learning about contradictions within a famous Tang Dynasty poem while he was in Suzhou, to commissioning a pair of calligraphy by a master who could simulteneously write with both hands 2 different lines of poetry.
He enjoyed Chinese tea. Over the years, whenever I visited he would offer new teas to taste. One of his favourites was a rare tea plucked from forbidding cliffs using trained monkeys in China. I suspect he enjoyed that whole idea as much as the tea itself. Once he gave me a one-leaf-tea - just one tea leaf would be enough for a whole cup - which one could also enjoy by tucking it under the tongue. He shared with me the Teochew sayings for various "moves" one could use to fill up teacups from the tiny teapot. Neither of us knew much at all but he was happy to show off what he knew (more like, what he just learnt).
Outside Asia, he enjoyed London. I remember him telling me how he felt free to venture around London on his own; he would simply carry with him the address of where he lived so once he had enough he would simply flag down a taxi home. He could spend hours looking at the markets and the shops, buying salmon fillets, appreciating outdoor artists and eating roast duck in Basewater.
He always has a fascination with gadgets. He has a Walkman, a VCR, a TV with a remote control, a microcassette recorder almost as soon as they first came out. He had a microphone that he could use to tape phone calls. He has the first Swiss Army knife I'd ever seen, a gigantic model that include a toothpick and a tweezer on the side. Above all, as a life long photographer he has a love for cameras - especially his collection of Nikons - and assorted lenses which he kept in a professional glass jar/container to keep out the humidity. Once he showed me a fascinating camera lens that is actually a periscope so you can steal a shot while pretending to be pointing the camera somewhere else. The most recent gadget he so delighted in showing me was a cheap $3 lighter from China that came with a torchlight and a pen (?).
Once he showed me his collection of knifes he kept under his bed when he was still staying above the shop. For self-defense, he says, in case of robbers. There was a small sharp dagger by the bedside table, a parang under his mattress, a Ghurka Kukri knife in his wardrobe and under the bed was a rather unwieldy looking 7 foot long blow-pipe with a bayonet at the end. He told me ominously that he had added poison to the blades so he didn't even need to use them too aggressively...only one small cut, he said, and the robber would be finished. I often used to wonder how serious he was - and more like, how seriously a robber would take him if they come upon him at night, dressed as always in his singlet (or pajama top) and loose boxer shorts.
In a way his bedroom is like his Aladdin's cave. The bedrooms were always dark either windowless or with curtains drawn and with the aircon perpetually on. The humid air in the room heavy with a mix of cigarette smoke, Tokuhai-plasters, Vicks menthol and occasionally perfume if Ah Emm was going out. There he would often be perched languidly on his cushy lazy chair in the bedroom in the dark, the room lit only by the screen of the TV in front of him and the sounds from the TV punctuated occasionally by his rather theatrical clearing of phlegm from the throat. He said you can tell if he hadn't slept well because the bags under his eyes would throb. But he was rarely frail or lethargic and one only needed to engage him in conversation before he filled up with energy. In later years, he would try to convince me that although he looked the same his energy was ebbing; each year falling below the previous.
Surrounding his perch in the bedroom was a perfect ecosystem for his comfort and convenience. On a glassed-over rosewood side table was his ash-tray snuffed with barely smoked cigarettes amidst spit, phlegm and ocassionally the clear plastic cigarette wrappers which he used to pick on his teeth. Always nearby, a pair of nail scissors or clipper, ear-wax digger, toothpicks, his gold lighter, cigarettes (Benson and Hedges), his reading glasses and cup of tea. Under the glassed top were calenders and assorted notes and lists. On his ottoman lay his newspapers, TV and video remote controls. Eventually the ottoman too was topped with glass and use for writing the occasional cheques or notes. Next to the lazy chair was a briefcase ("James Bond Bag") with his papers, letters and stuff. Hanging on the wall next to him a Cathy Pacific calender and a small tear-off calender with Chinese calender references.
Before him, the TV was almost always on playing videotapes of Hong Kong TV serials and later Singapore serials. He would eventually discover satellite TV and spent hours watching channels from Taiwan and from different Chinese provincial stations.
After moving to Jalan Muara, he also had another perch in a rattan armchair at the patio where he spent his mornings and sunset. There he has a less elaborate collection of tools and paraphenelia on a small rattan side table and a few, hanging from hooks and loops on a nearby window grating. On the bannister before him, he would set a few joss sticks burning. Recently, he also hung up behind him a picture of the "Bo" tree where Buddha found enlightenment. In the morning, he would have his breakfast at his patio perch. Once he showed me how he saved some crusts from his toasts, crumble them up, whistle to attract the birds which he would then feed. He said he had refined a certain way of whistling so the birds would know to come down.
As he grew older, I observed him growing increasingly serene and more spiritual although less overtly interested in religious practice. He would light the joss sticks because to him it felt peaceful and he liked the smell. He says its not important if the joss sticks were not presented at the alter so long as the wishes are heartfelt. After all he said, all that he prayed was simply for a peaceful life with a light and happy heart.
He actually once came very close to dying in the late 1970s. After years of drinking somewhat excessively, his liver had given up. The specialist in Singapore said he had three months to live and that there was nothing anyone could do. Miraculously, he found his way back with a combination of exotic and expensive Chinese medicine, an ancestral herbal concoction passed down the generations and giving up the drink for good. And for as long as I can remember he maintained a careful diet. Once he found some wonderfully fresh prawns in the market but he was careful to limit himself to only 7 small ones ("or 5 if they are slightly bigger"), which he gently steamed himself. He began having medical check-ups in Singapore every 3 months, where he would stay at the Mandarin Hotel. Once he bragged to me that he could fit all he needed for his short trip in a briefcase.
In his latter years too, he devoted much of his energies helping the Chinese temple committee to manage the Chinese cemetery in Berakas. This was a job he took seriously but often cheerfully. Many mornings he would ask the driver Rudolph (whom he insisted on calling Robert) to take him to inspect the cemetery or look on as Sri Lankan workers cut the grass or construct new plots. Other times, he would generously regale anyone with macabre statistics of how many plots of various sizes he has asked to be prepared in order to keep up with his "demand projections" - over protests from Ah Emm asking him to talk about something else. To that, he would counter that its a simple truism that everyone are born, grow older and will eventually die.
Ultimately, his belonged to No. 31 Jalan Sultan or rather within the footprint of the original 102 shop houses that were built in Bandar town center in the 1950s. That is where he spent almost the whole of his life. Almost everybody knew him and he knew almost everybody and which shop they belonged to. When the shop was around, it was a popular meeting place of friends and acquaintances. If you wanted to know the latest news or gossip the back of the shop was the place to be. Many of those were people who he literally grew up as evident from a collection of photographs he once showed me. A photography buff, he took a lot of pictures of the daily comings and goings of growing up in the 40s and 50s. He used to develop his photographs in makeshift darkrooms but printing them in tiny 2 inches squares to save on paper. Many were photographs of his friends either posed somewhat stylistically in scenic locations or in groups - particularly on fieldtrips to the beach riding on the back of some lorry.
Whenever he walked about town, he would walk about in quick darting steps but often coming to sudden stops to greet someone or teasingly admonish friends he met in shops along the way. Early in the morning he would go to the fish market, which used to be right behind the shop, to check out the day's catch. He spent most of his time at the shop and rarely ate out casually, unless by invitation to an official function or celebrations.
He used to go about on a motorbike but stopped after an accident when he was much younger. He never learnt to drive a car. Even after moving away, he would return to Bandar for quick visits most days of the week driven there and back by Rudolph (or Robert?).
He ventured into brickmaking in the 60s and 70s. What could be easier, he thought, than turning earth into money? It became a rudimentary brick factory in Kiudang manned by experts brickmakers from Taiwan. But in the end that was a money loser and the factory folded into a joint-venture that continue to operate a modern factory to this day. He found it a better fit for his interest in brickmaking to be on the board of that company and occasionally going on trips to Taiwan to acquire new technologies and machinery.
Other than brickmaking, he was rarely truly excited by business. In particular, he disliked and get easily stressed by conflict and pressure from business. Although I have never seen him working himself too hard but I have seen him suffer sleepless nights and driven to distraction by a demand from the bank or a threat from a solicitor. It was clearly painful for him to close the business in 1991, rent out the shophouse and eventually selling the shophouse itself in 2002. But he saw it his duty to resolve the debts from the business and avoid passing the rancour to future generations. For a few years, I would talk him through the decisions he was facing and later helped to implement those decisions. Even if he knew what had to be done, we spent hours where he repeatedly his reasonings as if he needed to convince himself. In the end, the proceeds from selling the shophouse were enough to cover all the outstanding debt and the remainder was split evenly.
He prefers to see his legacy on the personal and family level. For sometime he reflected that he was grateful that all members of the family were well-educated and comfortable in life, he quoted an idiom saying that we could not compare with the best but are way above the rest. He was acutely conscious of being from a small family, especially after his only brother's (my father's) passing in 1997. Once he did a mental count of the entire "Chan" family in Brunei - and the numbers came to about 5 main branches and fewer than 100 persons in total - and that our branch was by far the smallest. This was probably why he often emphasized how we must be forgiving and helpful within the family because that set good examples for our children.
He was active in the Chinese community as defined by being shopkeepers and in Bandar. His most lasting involvement was with the Chinese temple committee. Earlier on he was on the Committee of the Chinese Chambers of Commerce. He is well-respected and generally regarded with affection within the community but hardly held any of the prestigeous leadership positions. That is not surprising given that he was by nature disdainful of power and prestige. He has little or no inclination or stomach for confrontation or conflict. Indeed, he laughingly contrast his peaceful and uncluttered life with the tension and conflicts of others who he saw striving and competing for attention.
About three years ago, he told me that he figured that he could sum up the most important things he learnt in life into a few words which he wrote down for me on the newspaper. I asked to keep what he had written and tore it off the page. A few days ago, when I learnt that his organs were failing and that he probably did not have long to live, I found and re-read that piece of paper:
(my translation)
"Whoever thinks its possible to satisfy everyone? But to wish to be clear in my conscience;
Everything in life has its fate; Everthing should let nature take its course."
Those words, I immediately knew, was what he wanted to say to me there and then. I shall miss him.
---------------------------------------------------------
My Ah Pae never really grew old. Although I have never known him as a young man, at heart he has always been a curious and even-tempered child. He has an easy bonhomie and always quick with a laugh or an interesting anecdotes. Despite that, beneath his cheerful and easy company, he was also by nature equally content to simply enjoys long stretches of time every day in his own company. He always seemed comfortable in his own skin, and especially in recent years came across to be in perfect acceptance of what life has given to him.
I remember him most for the countless hours of casual conversations we had and stories he had told me. They stood out from my childhood because of the special blend of curiosity, humour and equianimity in the way he viewed the world.
He often spoke about growing up in China living at the "fort end" of a walled village - where different family lived in their own houses-compounds, each with its own walls to guard against bandits. There was a stream outside the village gate where as a boy he would take the family's ducks out to feed. He said ducks are clever in that they know their way home, because at the day's end, all he had to do was to call out to the ducks and they would follow him home. Some ducks would get mixed up with those returning to other families but once that happen the duck would panic and cry out loudly. He said the geese were even smarter because they kept a look out outside homes - like guard dogs - and would bellow loudly whenever strangers comes near.
One trip I regret not taking was going with him to visit the ancestral village. Somehow this-and-that got in the way and later he had to have surgery to remove his bile. Moreover, he was also hesitant about the whole idea because he did not enjoy much his first return trip to the ancestral village. So many people, all claiming to be distant relatives?, invited them to their homes and presented them with red-dyed boiled eggs - and expecting a handout in return - it was all a little too stressful. Each time they were cornered, he and Ah Emm had to turn to speaking to one another in Malay to plot their escape!
I also remember his story from the time when he was among a band-of-boys doing odd jobs at the Japanese HQ during their occupation in Brunei. He said he had a special position because he had the key to the store room. While people outside had to skimp and save up their match-sticks, he had so much strewn around his room that he was roundly told off by Ah Chou (great grandma) for not valuing them properly when she visited him as he lay ill with malaria. Once day, the Japanese told him to expect an air raid so he went off to the riverside where he proudly constructed his own shelter. He dug a hole big enough to sit in and covered with some bamboo slats and grass. He thought it was all quite grand; until he saw a plane shooting a bullet right through a thick concrete wall a few feet before his eyes! He also told me thar it was during the war, when he learnt a secret technique (so he said) for roasting peanuts, one he picked up from observing the chefs when he was living above a coffeeshop where Ah Chek (my grandfather) was working for a time.
His natural curiousity meant that he made a wonderfully observant tourist in his latter years as he travelled through Southeast Asia, China, Europe and America. Anecdotes and stories from his travels are as varied as they come. Once he told me he learnt from a gourmet friend how to choose the best lobsters. Another time he told of the time when he persuaded the chefs at this famous Xiaolongpao restaurant to let him in on their secrets to making juicy xiaolongpaos. He loved talking about the special meals he tasted on his travels, particularly seafood. He talked about his experiences with the different airlines. He marvelled even at ordinary encounters, anything from outsized fruits, to learning about contradictions within a famous Tang Dynasty poem while he was in Suzhou, to commissioning a pair of calligraphy by a master who could simulteneously write with both hands 2 different lines of poetry.
He enjoyed Chinese tea. Over the years, whenever I visited he would offer new teas to taste. One of his favourites was a rare tea plucked from forbidding cliffs using trained monkeys in China. I suspect he enjoyed that whole idea as much as the tea itself. Once he gave me a one-leaf-tea - just one tea leaf would be enough for a whole cup - which one could also enjoy by tucking it under the tongue. He shared with me the Teochew sayings for various "moves" one could use to fill up teacups from the tiny teapot. Neither of us knew much at all but he was happy to show off what he knew (more like, what he just learnt).
Outside Asia, he enjoyed London. I remember him telling me how he felt free to venture around London on his own; he would simply carry with him the address of where he lived so once he had enough he would simply flag down a taxi home. He could spend hours looking at the markets and the shops, buying salmon fillets, appreciating outdoor artists and eating roast duck in Basewater.
He always has a fascination with gadgets. He has a Walkman, a VCR, a TV with a remote control, a microcassette recorder almost as soon as they first came out. He had a microphone that he could use to tape phone calls. He has the first Swiss Army knife I'd ever seen, a gigantic model that include a toothpick and a tweezer on the side. Above all, as a life long photographer he has a love for cameras - especially his collection of Nikons - and assorted lenses which he kept in a professional glass jar/container to keep out the humidity. Once he showed me a fascinating camera lens that is actually a periscope so you can steal a shot while pretending to be pointing the camera somewhere else. The most recent gadget he so delighted in showing me was a cheap $3 lighter from China that came with a torchlight and a pen (?).
Once he showed me his collection of knifes he kept under his bed when he was still staying above the shop. For self-defense, he says, in case of robbers. There was a small sharp dagger by the bedside table, a parang under his mattress, a Ghurka Kukri knife in his wardrobe and under the bed was a rather unwieldy looking 7 foot long blow-pipe with a bayonet at the end. He told me ominously that he had added poison to the blades so he didn't even need to use them too aggressively...only one small cut, he said, and the robber would be finished. I often used to wonder how serious he was - and more like, how seriously a robber would take him if they come upon him at night, dressed as always in his singlet (or pajama top) and loose boxer shorts.
In a way his bedroom is like his Aladdin's cave. The bedrooms were always dark either windowless or with curtains drawn and with the aircon perpetually on. The humid air in the room heavy with a mix of cigarette smoke, Tokuhai-plasters, Vicks menthol and occasionally perfume if Ah Emm was going out. There he would often be perched languidly on his cushy lazy chair in the bedroom in the dark, the room lit only by the screen of the TV in front of him and the sounds from the TV punctuated occasionally by his rather theatrical clearing of phlegm from the throat. He said you can tell if he hadn't slept well because the bags under his eyes would throb. But he was rarely frail or lethargic and one only needed to engage him in conversation before he filled up with energy. In later years, he would try to convince me that although he looked the same his energy was ebbing; each year falling below the previous.
Surrounding his perch in the bedroom was a perfect ecosystem for his comfort and convenience. On a glassed-over rosewood side table was his ash-tray snuffed with barely smoked cigarettes amidst spit, phlegm and ocassionally the clear plastic cigarette wrappers which he used to pick on his teeth. Always nearby, a pair of nail scissors or clipper, ear-wax digger, toothpicks, his gold lighter, cigarettes (Benson and Hedges), his reading glasses and cup of tea. Under the glassed top were calenders and assorted notes and lists. On his ottoman lay his newspapers, TV and video remote controls. Eventually the ottoman too was topped with glass and use for writing the occasional cheques or notes. Next to the lazy chair was a briefcase ("James Bond Bag") with his papers, letters and stuff. Hanging on the wall next to him a Cathy Pacific calender and a small tear-off calender with Chinese calender references.
Before him, the TV was almost always on playing videotapes of Hong Kong TV serials and later Singapore serials. He would eventually discover satellite TV and spent hours watching channels from Taiwan and from different Chinese provincial stations.
After moving to Jalan Muara, he also had another perch in a rattan armchair at the patio where he spent his mornings and sunset. There he has a less elaborate collection of tools and paraphenelia on a small rattan side table and a few, hanging from hooks and loops on a nearby window grating. On the bannister before him, he would set a few joss sticks burning. Recently, he also hung up behind him a picture of the "Bo" tree where Buddha found enlightenment. In the morning, he would have his breakfast at his patio perch. Once he showed me how he saved some crusts from his toasts, crumble them up, whistle to attract the birds which he would then feed. He said he had refined a certain way of whistling so the birds would know to come down.
As he grew older, I observed him growing increasingly serene and more spiritual although less overtly interested in religious practice. He would light the joss sticks because to him it felt peaceful and he liked the smell. He says its not important if the joss sticks were not presented at the alter so long as the wishes are heartfelt. After all he said, all that he prayed was simply for a peaceful life with a light and happy heart.
He actually once came very close to dying in the late 1970s. After years of drinking somewhat excessively, his liver had given up. The specialist in Singapore said he had three months to live and that there was nothing anyone could do. Miraculously, he found his way back with a combination of exotic and expensive Chinese medicine, an ancestral herbal concoction passed down the generations and giving up the drink for good. And for as long as I can remember he maintained a careful diet. Once he found some wonderfully fresh prawns in the market but he was careful to limit himself to only 7 small ones ("or 5 if they are slightly bigger"), which he gently steamed himself. He began having medical check-ups in Singapore every 3 months, where he would stay at the Mandarin Hotel. Once he bragged to me that he could fit all he needed for his short trip in a briefcase.
In his latter years too, he devoted much of his energies helping the Chinese temple committee to manage the Chinese cemetery in Berakas. This was a job he took seriously but often cheerfully. Many mornings he would ask the driver Rudolph (whom he insisted on calling Robert) to take him to inspect the cemetery or look on as Sri Lankan workers cut the grass or construct new plots. Other times, he would generously regale anyone with macabre statistics of how many plots of various sizes he has asked to be prepared in order to keep up with his "demand projections" - over protests from Ah Emm asking him to talk about something else. To that, he would counter that its a simple truism that everyone are born, grow older and will eventually die.
Ultimately, his belonged to No. 31 Jalan Sultan or rather within the footprint of the original 102 shop houses that were built in Bandar town center in the 1950s. That is where he spent almost the whole of his life. Almost everybody knew him and he knew almost everybody and which shop they belonged to. When the shop was around, it was a popular meeting place of friends and acquaintances. If you wanted to know the latest news or gossip the back of the shop was the place to be. Many of those were people who he literally grew up as evident from a collection of photographs he once showed me. A photography buff, he took a lot of pictures of the daily comings and goings of growing up in the 40s and 50s. He used to develop his photographs in makeshift darkrooms but printing them in tiny 2 inches squares to save on paper. Many were photographs of his friends either posed somewhat stylistically in scenic locations or in groups - particularly on fieldtrips to the beach riding on the back of some lorry.
Whenever he walked about town, he would walk about in quick darting steps but often coming to sudden stops to greet someone or teasingly admonish friends he met in shops along the way. Early in the morning he would go to the fish market, which used to be right behind the shop, to check out the day's catch. He spent most of his time at the shop and rarely ate out casually, unless by invitation to an official function or celebrations.
He used to go about on a motorbike but stopped after an accident when he was much younger. He never learnt to drive a car. Even after moving away, he would return to Bandar for quick visits most days of the week driven there and back by Rudolph (or Robert?).
He ventured into brickmaking in the 60s and 70s. What could be easier, he thought, than turning earth into money? It became a rudimentary brick factory in Kiudang manned by experts brickmakers from Taiwan. But in the end that was a money loser and the factory folded into a joint-venture that continue to operate a modern factory to this day. He found it a better fit for his interest in brickmaking to be on the board of that company and occasionally going on trips to Taiwan to acquire new technologies and machinery.
Other than brickmaking, he was rarely truly excited by business. In particular, he disliked and get easily stressed by conflict and pressure from business. Although I have never seen him working himself too hard but I have seen him suffer sleepless nights and driven to distraction by a demand from the bank or a threat from a solicitor. It was clearly painful for him to close the business in 1991, rent out the shophouse and eventually selling the shophouse itself in 2002. But he saw it his duty to resolve the debts from the business and avoid passing the rancour to future generations. For a few years, I would talk him through the decisions he was facing and later helped to implement those decisions. Even if he knew what had to be done, we spent hours where he repeatedly his reasonings as if he needed to convince himself. In the end, the proceeds from selling the shophouse were enough to cover all the outstanding debt and the remainder was split evenly.
He prefers to see his legacy on the personal and family level. For sometime he reflected that he was grateful that all members of the family were well-educated and comfortable in life, he quoted an idiom saying that we could not compare with the best but are way above the rest. He was acutely conscious of being from a small family, especially after his only brother's (my father's) passing in 1997. Once he did a mental count of the entire "Chan" family in Brunei - and the numbers came to about 5 main branches and fewer than 100 persons in total - and that our branch was by far the smallest. This was probably why he often emphasized how we must be forgiving and helpful within the family because that set good examples for our children.
He was active in the Chinese community as defined by being shopkeepers and in Bandar. His most lasting involvement was with the Chinese temple committee. Earlier on he was on the Committee of the Chinese Chambers of Commerce. He is well-respected and generally regarded with affection within the community but hardly held any of the prestigeous leadership positions. That is not surprising given that he was by nature disdainful of power and prestige. He has little or no inclination or stomach for confrontation or conflict. Indeed, he laughingly contrast his peaceful and uncluttered life with the tension and conflicts of others who he saw striving and competing for attention.
About three years ago, he told me that he figured that he could sum up the most important things he learnt in life into a few words which he wrote down for me on the newspaper. I asked to keep what he had written and tore it off the page. A few days ago, when I learnt that his organs were failing and that he probably did not have long to live, I found and re-read that piece of paper:
(my translation)
"Whoever thinks its possible to satisfy everyone? But to wish to be clear in my conscience;
Everything in life has its fate; Everthing should let nature take its course."
Those words, I immediately knew, was what he wanted to say to me there and then. I shall miss him.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Brunei Anecdotes on Tolerance
During my recent trip to Brunei, I made a heartening observation that mutual-respect and tolerence among races and religions are alive and well in Brunei. It made me feel hopeful and proud as a Bruneian.
It was the first day of Ramadhan - a public holiday - and as usual during that trip, I decided to pop by a nice little cafe where I can access their WiFi internet. The cafe was designed in such as way that much of its facade is opened to the public walkway (to accommodate smokers I presume) while the rest of it was enclosed behind glass and airconditioned.
Many years ago, may be 20 years ago, there was a municiple directive that during daylight hours in the month of Ramadhan all restaurants should be shuttered, bar for a small gap for non-Muslim/non-fasters to get in and out. It raised all kinds of heckles in private, but because this is Brunei, the protests were quiet and not overt. Gradually, the gaps got bigger and bigger, and soon the directive was either quietly shelved or simply ignored.
So it took the Bruneian in me about 2 minutes to realize that - hey - I was having a coffee out in the open in a cafe that is wide open to the public.
Later, I went into a local mall and same thing - the restaurants were widely open and so are the displays (and smell) of food by the aisle.
Open tolerance is (for now) the new norm. And I firmly think this is the way it should be.
Thanks to some clever entrepreneur, for the first time in my whole life, I encountered some "Hari Raya Mooncakes" for sale. It is not often that as with this year that Ramadhan ends on the 8th month in the Chinese calendar meaning the Mid-Autumn Festival falls on the 15th day of Hari Raya. All the better. No reason that only Malay kuih should be served during Hari Raya*. (For the non-Southeast Asian, the Hari Raya marks the end of the Muslim fasting month of Ramadhan, also called Eid-al-Fitri or Eid-Mubarak in some communities.)
Although it must be explained that in Brunei, Chinese food is now considered fairly mainstream for middle class Malays - especially, dim sum. Ever since a few pioneering restaurants began serving halal dim sum perhaps 15 years ago, a dim sum brunch on a Sunday has become a national past time for the Malay middle/professional elite classes.
Another lovely tradition - of open houses during Hari Raya - is still going strong. It is very common for non-Malay Bruneians to have a lot of Malay friends or even relatives. And so, Hari Raya celebrations for many people of all races consists of a moving feast of going from one open-house to another from morning to sometimes late at night. On the appointed days (usually from the 2nd day of Hari Raya onwards and especially on the first and second weekends thereafter) Bruneian Malay-Muslims would invite/welcome friends and colleagues to drop by their homes - present are usually not expected but it is expected for everyone to join in a fairly large hot buffet spread which is now considered de rigueur - which makes hari Raya extremely dangerous for the waistline. For the hosts, its a great honor having their friends visit and would sometimes be "slighted" if someone "skipped" their house.
Even the Cabinet Ministers would open their houses to anyone wanting to visit. The palace is usually opened to the public for 3 days and on their way out, everyone gets to shakehands with the Sultan and other members of the royal family.
My last anecdote about Brunei actually happenned almost 4 years ago, the morning itself of the day just as we were moving to New York. 4 hours before the flight, we got a traffic ticket for making a wrong turn. Pleading with the policeman was no use and we had to deal with the matter at the police HQ. When we got there, we ran into a police officer having a smoke outside the police station. He asked us what happenned and we explained. Without missing a beat, he advised us what to do.... (Now for many people, you might be able to "guess" what was to follow, but that was not it...) He told us, alright, just go in and look for the officer who enters the traffic tickets into the big book and all you have to do is to, " ... say sorry. Just tell him you are sorry and apologize and say you will never do it again." Off we went in and tried what was suggested and presto! he took the ticket from us and with a stern voice "OK, next time don't do that again." and simply tore up the ticket.
On that note, we left for New York thinking what a wonderful place Brunei (still) is.
It was the first day of Ramadhan - a public holiday - and as usual during that trip, I decided to pop by a nice little cafe where I can access their WiFi internet. The cafe was designed in such as way that much of its facade is opened to the public walkway (to accommodate smokers I presume) while the rest of it was enclosed behind glass and airconditioned.
Many years ago, may be 20 years ago, there was a municiple directive that during daylight hours in the month of Ramadhan all restaurants should be shuttered, bar for a small gap for non-Muslim/non-fasters to get in and out. It raised all kinds of heckles in private, but because this is Brunei, the protests were quiet and not overt. Gradually, the gaps got bigger and bigger, and soon the directive was either quietly shelved or simply ignored.
So it took the Bruneian in me about 2 minutes to realize that - hey - I was having a coffee out in the open in a cafe that is wide open to the public.
Later, I went into a local mall and same thing - the restaurants were widely open and so are the displays (and smell) of food by the aisle.
Open tolerance is (for now) the new norm. And I firmly think this is the way it should be.
Thanks to some clever entrepreneur, for the first time in my whole life, I encountered some "Hari Raya Mooncakes" for sale. It is not often that as with this year that Ramadhan ends on the 8th month in the Chinese calendar meaning the Mid-Autumn Festival falls on the 15th day of Hari Raya. All the better. No reason that only Malay kuih should be served during Hari Raya*. (For the non-Southeast Asian, the Hari Raya marks the end of the Muslim fasting month of Ramadhan, also called Eid-al-Fitri or Eid-Mubarak in some communities.)
Although it must be explained that in Brunei, Chinese food is now considered fairly mainstream for middle class Malays - especially, dim sum. Ever since a few pioneering restaurants began serving halal dim sum perhaps 15 years ago, a dim sum brunch on a Sunday has become a national past time for the Malay middle/professional elite classes.
Another lovely tradition - of open houses during Hari Raya - is still going strong. It is very common for non-Malay Bruneians to have a lot of Malay friends or even relatives. And so, Hari Raya celebrations for many people of all races consists of a moving feast of going from one open-house to another from morning to sometimes late at night. On the appointed days (usually from the 2nd day of Hari Raya onwards and especially on the first and second weekends thereafter) Bruneian Malay-Muslims would invite/welcome friends and colleagues to drop by their homes - present are usually not expected but it is expected for everyone to join in a fairly large hot buffet spread which is now considered de rigueur - which makes hari Raya extremely dangerous for the waistline. For the hosts, its a great honor having their friends visit and would sometimes be "slighted" if someone "skipped" their house.
Even the Cabinet Ministers would open their houses to anyone wanting to visit. The palace is usually opened to the public for 3 days and on their way out, everyone gets to shakehands with the Sultan and other members of the royal family.
My last anecdote about Brunei actually happenned almost 4 years ago, the morning itself of the day just as we were moving to New York. 4 hours before the flight, we got a traffic ticket for making a wrong turn. Pleading with the policeman was no use and we had to deal with the matter at the police HQ. When we got there, we ran into a police officer having a smoke outside the police station. He asked us what happenned and we explained. Without missing a beat, he advised us what to do.... (Now for many people, you might be able to "guess" what was to follow, but that was not it...) He told us, alright, just go in and look for the officer who enters the traffic tickets into the big book and all you have to do is to, " ... say sorry. Just tell him you are sorry and apologize and say you will never do it again." Off we went in and tried what was suggested and presto! he took the ticket from us and with a stern voice "OK, next time don't do that again." and simply tore up the ticket.
On that note, we left for New York thinking what a wonderful place Brunei (still) is.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
ASEAN's Generation Gap - Stuck With Our Parent's Leaders?
Just a short post reflecting on a web-chat I had with my good friend Nasri about the developments in Thailand. I was reflecting that although I liked him PM Abhisit's political life is - sadly - numbered because historically in Thailand when protests turn violent, that crosses the line that makes the status quo unteneble. My thesis is that either the palace will step in, or there would be a deal for the opposition to step in, or the Prime Minister would be removed in a face-saving deal that preserves the interests of the powers-that-be. My friend's view is that would be a shame because his colleagues in the foreign ministry who have dealt with Abhisit up-close found him "damn impressive...and he was a breath of fresh air for ASEAN". I was struck by that second point.
The leaders of ASEAN are increasingly disconnected with the demography of ASEAN nations. In 2000, the median age in ASEAN was 23.9 years old, meaning 50% of the population was below the age of 23.9. This ranges from a little less than 18 years in Cambodia and East Timor to Singapore which at median age of 34.5 had the "oldest" population. The rest of the original ASEAN 6: Malaysia is 23.3, Brunei is 25.7, Indonesia 24.6, Thailand 27.5, Vietnam 23.1 and the Philippines 20.9.
On the otherhand, in terms of age (and probably in world view and outlook) ASEAN leaders are invariably one - or even two - generations removed from the majority of their population. Thailand's Abhisit is by far the youngest at 44. The Sultan of Brunei is 63. Singapore's PM Lee Hsien Loong is 57. Malaysia's new PM Najib is 55. Indonesia's President Yodhuyono is 59. President Gloria M.Arroyo is 62.
In terms of the gap between median age (2000 figures) and the age of the leaders of the original ASEAN 6, the lowest is Thailand at 16.5 years and the highest is Philippines at 41 years. The rest from lowest to highest: Singapore about 22.5, Malaysia is about 32, Indonesia is around 34 and Brunei around 37.
Using the rule of thumb of 25 years for every "generation", ASEAN leaders are therefore approximately 1.5 generations older than their people as a whole. Perhaps this is not a topic to apply any logic, but I would consider any gap beyond one-generation older than the median age to risk a fundamental disconnect with the rest of the population; both in life-experience, priorities but more fundamentally in their respective risk-horizons.
Granted that it would make sense for people in national leadership to have sufficient experience and gravitas to leaven even the best minds and talents; and granted that Asian societies have a reverence for seniority; and granted that it takes years in any system to reach the top - be it in government, business or in society as a whole; but to be more than a whole generation older than the average age of the entire population could not be a very healthy sign for any society. What more for societies that managed to compress (and are still compressing) perhaps a century of change into one or two generations.
One could correctly argue that changes are only superficial. Beneath the glitter on the surfact, the people themselves have not changed as much: that age-old conflicts, dramas and demons still unresolved and would therefore need to be managed by those who knows them best. These people may not know much about the internet or finance but they "know" nationalism, racial politics and exercise of power.
Nonetheless, I would still conclude that those skills while useful are backward looking and do not move society forward. Their people will be looking - nay, they will demand leadership and new ideas both of themselves as well as to define their common purpose. And more and more, those in their 20s and 30s will not simply inherit their parent's leaders. Within the next 10 years, I see this realignment between generations (and also between the old power elites and the new power structures) to be a relentless and continuing challenge for every ASEAN country.
Ironically, Abhitsit not withstanding his age happens to be with the old power structures. His predictament unfortunately is due not to his age, politics or policies - its simply one of timing. His Democratic Party is well-respected but often a pawn at the mercy of other more powerful political forces/personalities in Thailand in need for a "legitimate" face. This time is probably no different.
My personal dealings with Abhisit was limited to little more than showing him the bathroom. In 2003, I helped organize a small conference in Kuala Lumpur where Abhisit was invited to speak. And because he was on a flying visit from Bangkok to speak at the conference, I asked Firdaus one of the helpers at the conference to personally see to his journey from KLIA to the Mandarin Oriental and back to the airport. He spoke - not to memorably - and as he was leaving for the airport, Firdaus asked if he minded taking the LRT and the KLIA express to the airport because it had been raining cats and dogs and when that happens the KL traffic became unmoving. Being a polite and unaffected politician, he quickly agreed. And then he asked me to show him where the bathroom was and so I did. Not to be outdone by this anecdote, Nasri says he had a similar bathroom directing experience - his with the former Japanese PM Mori.
The leaders of ASEAN are increasingly disconnected with the demography of ASEAN nations. In 2000, the median age in ASEAN was 23.9 years old, meaning 50% of the population was below the age of 23.9. This ranges from a little less than 18 years in Cambodia and East Timor to Singapore which at median age of 34.5 had the "oldest" population. The rest of the original ASEAN 6: Malaysia is 23.3, Brunei is 25.7, Indonesia 24.6, Thailand 27.5, Vietnam 23.1 and the Philippines 20.9.
On the otherhand, in terms of age (and probably in world view and outlook) ASEAN leaders are invariably one - or even two - generations removed from the majority of their population. Thailand's Abhisit is by far the youngest at 44. The Sultan of Brunei is 63. Singapore's PM Lee Hsien Loong is 57. Malaysia's new PM Najib is 55. Indonesia's President Yodhuyono is 59. President Gloria M.Arroyo is 62.
In terms of the gap between median age (2000 figures) and the age of the leaders of the original ASEAN 6, the lowest is Thailand at 16.5 years and the highest is Philippines at 41 years. The rest from lowest to highest: Singapore about 22.5, Malaysia is about 32, Indonesia is around 34 and Brunei around 37.
Using the rule of thumb of 25 years for every "generation", ASEAN leaders are therefore approximately 1.5 generations older than their people as a whole. Perhaps this is not a topic to apply any logic, but I would consider any gap beyond one-generation older than the median age to risk a fundamental disconnect with the rest of the population; both in life-experience, priorities but more fundamentally in their respective risk-horizons.
Granted that it would make sense for people in national leadership to have sufficient experience and gravitas to leaven even the best minds and talents; and granted that Asian societies have a reverence for seniority; and granted that it takes years in any system to reach the top - be it in government, business or in society as a whole; but to be more than a whole generation older than the average age of the entire population could not be a very healthy sign for any society. What more for societies that managed to compress (and are still compressing) perhaps a century of change into one or two generations.
One could correctly argue that changes are only superficial. Beneath the glitter on the surfact, the people themselves have not changed as much: that age-old conflicts, dramas and demons still unresolved and would therefore need to be managed by those who knows them best. These people may not know much about the internet or finance but they "know" nationalism, racial politics and exercise of power.
Nonetheless, I would still conclude that those skills while useful are backward looking and do not move society forward. Their people will be looking - nay, they will demand leadership and new ideas both of themselves as well as to define their common purpose. And more and more, those in their 20s and 30s will not simply inherit their parent's leaders. Within the next 10 years, I see this realignment between generations (and also between the old power elites and the new power structures) to be a relentless and continuing challenge for every ASEAN country.
Ironically, Abhitsit not withstanding his age happens to be with the old power structures. His predictament unfortunately is due not to his age, politics or policies - its simply one of timing. His Democratic Party is well-respected but often a pawn at the mercy of other more powerful political forces/personalities in Thailand in need for a "legitimate" face. This time is probably no different.
My personal dealings with Abhisit was limited to little more than showing him the bathroom. In 2003, I helped organize a small conference in Kuala Lumpur where Abhisit was invited to speak. And because he was on a flying visit from Bangkok to speak at the conference, I asked Firdaus one of the helpers at the conference to personally see to his journey from KLIA to the Mandarin Oriental and back to the airport. He spoke - not to memorably - and as he was leaving for the airport, Firdaus asked if he minded taking the LRT and the KLIA express to the airport because it had been raining cats and dogs and when that happens the KL traffic became unmoving. Being a polite and unaffected politician, he quickly agreed. And then he asked me to show him where the bathroom was and so I did. Not to be outdone by this anecdote, Nasri says he had a similar bathroom directing experience - his with the former Japanese PM Mori.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Brunei and Malaysia
In the last few weeks, I was with the family on vacation first in Brunei and later in Malaysia. And one of the things that made the strongest impressions on me - albeit from a purely personal and anecdotal perspective - was the state of relations between the races.
In Malaysia, the state of racial relations are in a flux. The signs are mixed in the aftermath of the March 8 elections. On the plus side, electoral gains were made by the ostensibly multi-racial opposition coalition running on a largely non-racial message. I was there when the by-elections in Pematang Pauh took place and Datuk Seri Anwar ran a multi-racial campaign in a Malay majority constituency - and emerged victorious with increased majority.
On the otherhand, both the ruling and the opposition could not avoid the fact that all Malaysian political parties are stuck with a certain de facto racial identity, regardless of what the party constitution says. Within UNMO, hardliners and extremists keen to make a name for themselves are exploiting the political vacuum with impunity. When I was in Malaysia numerous such controversies were swirling around the national media. Outraged reactions from other races only serve to polorize the political environment. Having spent 2 years in a decidedly cosmopolitan (and astonishingly non-racial) environment that is NYC - and fresh from a few weeks in Brunei - I was struck how even casual conversations amongst family and friends often contain an uncomfortable number of sweeping statements about this and that race.
My observations while I was in Brunei though gave me pause for a different - and more hopeful and encouraging - reason. I'd be first to admit that it would not be possible or fair to compare the two countries; but what gave me pause was the scenes from Brunei's Chinese school when I picked up my daughters .
You see, my daughters spend the past 2 summers in Brunei and my mother arranged for them to attend the classes for the 10 weeks or so at the local Chinese school. It often amuses me how few people in Malaysia know that not only there are 8 Chinese schools in Brunei (3 of them up to middle school level), the Chung Hwa Middle School BSB with almost 4000 students from K to Pre-University level is the largest and one of the most respected schools in the country. The school is well-funded by the local Chinese community (as evident by a spanking new 5 storey complex) and progressive in its approach to education. Gone are the old fashioned 'Chinese-educated' mentality - and helped by an influx of talented teachers from mainland China - and the emphasis is now on a fully rounded education from music to wushu. Both my parents went to Chung Hwa, and so did my sister and I (up to Primary 6) and eventually so do both my daughters and all my sisters kids. Inevitably, there were the occasional politically-inspired challenges and I remember many as told to me by my late-father who was on the school board for more than 20 years; but overall I believe the state of Chinese education in Brunei has never been stronger.
All of that was very gratifying, but what gave me pause was the heartening racial diversity that I witnessed in that school. Malay parents and children no longer the oddities but they are now present in large numbers. In the steps waiting for the dismissal bell are ladies in tudong, guys military uniform, guys in haji caps, Philippinos, Indians and quite a few caucasian kids (I spotted one arriving in a British embassy car). Back in 2003, the principle told me the ratio of non-Chinese was 11% overall and 25% at kindergarten level ("we are slowly becoming an international school" she added). Today the numbers are probably even higher. I also sense that the idea of attending Ching Hwa is now mainstream, judging from the number of well-educated Malay elites I know who are sending their kids to Chung Hwa.
Back in the classrooms, the kids were yakking, studying, teasing and playing to one another in mix of Chinese and English. In them I see an easy and comfortable mingling that will continue as they grow older. As I see them, I realised that as my generation of Chinese grew up being comfortable with Malay friends and relations; now there is a growing generation of Malays who will be growing up being comfortable with Chinese. It is not only a matter of speaking and understanding the language, but I also see doors wide open into each other's cultures and worldview. In the same way that we are plugged into the global (and Western) language and culture, I see many of these youngsters being simulteneously plugged into their own culture, the global culture and the Chinese dimension.
I hope I was seeing the future and if so, I think I like what I am seeing.
In Malaysia, the state of racial relations are in a flux. The signs are mixed in the aftermath of the March 8 elections. On the plus side, electoral gains were made by the ostensibly multi-racial opposition coalition running on a largely non-racial message. I was there when the by-elections in Pematang Pauh took place and Datuk Seri Anwar ran a multi-racial campaign in a Malay majority constituency - and emerged victorious with increased majority.
On the otherhand, both the ruling and the opposition could not avoid the fact that all Malaysian political parties are stuck with a certain de facto racial identity, regardless of what the party constitution says. Within UNMO, hardliners and extremists keen to make a name for themselves are exploiting the political vacuum with impunity. When I was in Malaysia numerous such controversies were swirling around the national media. Outraged reactions from other races only serve to polorize the political environment. Having spent 2 years in a decidedly cosmopolitan (and astonishingly non-racial) environment that is NYC - and fresh from a few weeks in Brunei - I was struck how even casual conversations amongst family and friends often contain an uncomfortable number of sweeping statements about this and that race.
My observations while I was in Brunei though gave me pause for a different - and more hopeful and encouraging - reason. I'd be first to admit that it would not be possible or fair to compare the two countries; but what gave me pause was the scenes from Brunei's Chinese school when I picked up my daughters .
You see, my daughters spend the past 2 summers in Brunei and my mother arranged for them to attend the classes for the 10 weeks or so at the local Chinese school. It often amuses me how few people in Malaysia know that not only there are 8 Chinese schools in Brunei (3 of them up to middle school level), the Chung Hwa Middle School BSB with almost 4000 students from K to Pre-University level is the largest and one of the most respected schools in the country. The school is well-funded by the local Chinese community (as evident by a spanking new 5 storey complex) and progressive in its approach to education. Gone are the old fashioned 'Chinese-educated' mentality - and helped by an influx of talented teachers from mainland China - and the emphasis is now on a fully rounded education from music to wushu. Both my parents went to Chung Hwa, and so did my sister and I (up to Primary 6) and eventually so do both my daughters and all my sisters kids. Inevitably, there were the occasional politically-inspired challenges and I remember many as told to me by my late-father who was on the school board for more than 20 years; but overall I believe the state of Chinese education in Brunei has never been stronger.
All of that was very gratifying, but what gave me pause was the heartening racial diversity that I witnessed in that school. Malay parents and children no longer the oddities but they are now present in large numbers. In the steps waiting for the dismissal bell are ladies in tudong, guys military uniform, guys in haji caps, Philippinos, Indians and quite a few caucasian kids (I spotted one arriving in a British embassy car). Back in 2003, the principle told me the ratio of non-Chinese was 11% overall and 25% at kindergarten level ("we are slowly becoming an international school" she added). Today the numbers are probably even higher. I also sense that the idea of attending Ching Hwa is now mainstream, judging from the number of well-educated Malay elites I know who are sending their kids to Chung Hwa.
Back in the classrooms, the kids were yakking, studying, teasing and playing to one another in mix of Chinese and English. In them I see an easy and comfortable mingling that will continue as they grow older. As I see them, I realised that as my generation of Chinese grew up being comfortable with Malay friends and relations; now there is a growing generation of Malays who will be growing up being comfortable with Chinese. It is not only a matter of speaking and understanding the language, but I also see doors wide open into each other's cultures and worldview. In the same way that we are plugged into the global (and Western) language and culture, I see many of these youngsters being simulteneously plugged into their own culture, the global culture and the Chinese dimension.
I hope I was seeing the future and if so, I think I like what I am seeing.
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