Could there have been a more wonderful way for Malaysians to celebrate Merdeka Day than to settle back and watch Ziyad Zolkefli power his way through the Tokyo Paralympic Men's Shot Put F20 finals?
Having won Malaysia's first-ever Paralympic gold medal at the Rio 2016 Games, Ziyad was the odds-on favourite to win gold for us again; not only because he truly had it in him, but also because his pure-hearted enthusiasm and dazzling innocent smile had long won our hearts and that of sports fans around the world.
So, when Ziyad broke his own world record in his very first throw, and then spectacularly broke it again shortly after, Malaysians held their breath and prayed; round by round, step by step, spin by spin, as others tried to best Ziyad's new world record of 17.94m — but none even came close. His nearest competitors' new personal bests were a mere 17.34m and 17.30m, respectively. Collectively, we breathed again: the gold was ours!
But barely was a fresh mug of teh tarik made when news came in of Ziyad's disqualification; and our euphoria came down with a devastating crash. What made it so hard to swallow was that we had all seen Ziyad's gold-deserving performance; seen him break the world record twice — only to be told that, technically, none of that happened: Ziyad "Did Not Start (DNS)".
It was hard not to feel that we had been robbed. That the team that filed the complaint was the one that was perceived to have the most to gain from it only added fuel to our ire. The country erupted in outrage: In next to no time, Malaysians poured out onto the social media field to fight the battle that Ziyad could not. The "Bawang Brigade" came out in full force.
Fingers were pointed, the complaining team was condemned, and accusations even became unfairly political. But, mainly, it was ordinary Malaysians, hearts rent, who took to social media to plead and protest, to express sympathy and solidarity, and to congregate in prayer and hope. News of Ziyad's disappointment was reported worldwide, and he fast gained the sympathy and support of non-Malaysians. And, extraordinarily for a person who did not get the gold, he was still considered a winner by many.
Further avenues of appeal may be explored after the Games, so, hope and reality may yet jive. Nevertheless, whatever issues that contributed to this matter arising must be investigated and scrutinised so that the right lessons are learned to secure future success and to avoid such pain again.
It's hard not to cry at the thought of Ziyad's loss. Ziyad securing the gold on Merdeka Day would have been a beautiful gift to the nation. For, Merdeka Day came at the end of a month obscured by political musical chairs, dividing further an already politically divided people.
After nearly two years of Covid lockdown and political uncertainty, was anyone even thinking of what it meant to be together? But Ziyad's loss, and the way it publicly unfolded, lit a particularly fierce flame of nationalism within Malaysians.
Not many may have flown the national flag for the day, as exhorted by the government; but on this Merdeka Day and the days following, more than any amount of flag-waving could have accomplished, Ziyad's loss brought us together as one. Angry and sad, but fiercely Malaysian.