BLACK, grimacing clouds bearing tidings of a wet afternoon do not move my brothers and I one bit. We are unbowed and unflinching. Free of the fear that mortals nurture in their heads and manifest in their work.
But around us, people are moving in haste. Their footfalls are stricken with the language of vulnerability, of anxiety. Raindrops streak through the air. Several women put out umbrellas, others are using their hands. Here and there, the Jalur Gemilang is billowing furiously.
“Huh!” I exclaim. What is it with these waxen faces? Might a little water and wind make them so afraid? Where’s the Merdeka spirit and power?
My brothers do not make reply. The swollen clouds cry for release. The wetness eventually comes. Then it ends. The blackness is no more, the sun re-enters the land.
So does a trickle of people. We watch them closely as they approach, a few holding a miniature Jalur Gemilang. A man and woman, obviously more than bosom friends, gaze at us, or perhaps past us, and fall into conversation.
Now, let me tell you, my brothers and I listen a great deal to the chatter around us. We are deeply interested in what people think, and especially do we cock our ears when they speak of valour and sacrifice. About freedom and independence. This has ever been our succour since we came into being.
Today, though, this handsome couple, whose mannerism and voices mark them out as Malaysians, appear to be concerned about something we have been hearing of a lot lately.
“I am so frustrated with what’s going on. I wish our leaders today are like the soldiers who defended our country against the communists and the other bad guys,” the man says. “They were selfless, they died so we could live freely. The leaders today are just talking and taking.”
“Oh, please lah,” says his companion. “You shouldn’t generalise. That’s so unfair. Are you saying all the soldiers were good and were thinking about the future of the country, and all our leaders are bad and squandering its wealth? It’s not that simple. It’s not like an Avengers movie.”
“But why shouldn’t it be that simple? Is honesty or accountability or bravery or standards that complicated? Are they only to be used selectively by the government or opposition to further the cause of a person, party or group?”
This conversation arouses my brothers. We look upon the two, and we wonder.
She strokes his hair, and gives him a playful smack on the back, and he blushes. “Exactly,” she says. “It’s pragmatism. That is how the world operates, how it progresses. If ‘right’ wins, it doesn’t mean the nation wins. You must look at the big picture. Get what I mean?”
That night, under the hopeful twinkling of the innumerable faraway stars, my brothers and I contemplate what we have heard. We are alone, save for an army of ants at our feet. You must think we love the outdoors. But, yes, it is our destiny.
Certainly, the uneasy exchange (that is how we see it) between the couple is not a new thing. We are hearing more of such despairing talk. We, who are used to stories of courage born and battles won, are now besieged by distress.
One of my brothers finally says something. But it is a question. “Do we share the blame for that which has come to pass?”
“We fought righteously. Why speak of blame?” I rebuke him. “Every land suffers storms. They shall pass. All that is required, as Tolkien writes and the wizard says, is for the people to decide ‘what to do with the time that is given to us’, for ‘there are other forces at work in this world… besides the will of evil’.”
This is what I say from the National Monument where my brothers and I — warriors of another age — mount an unending watch over the nation. “Yes, good citizens, past, present and future, shall ensure the black clouds pass. Not just murmurings shall come from them.”
The writer is NST executive editor,
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