OUR nation is grappling with trivial issues, exacerbated by those out to sow discord, on an almost weekly basis.
These problems were unheard of in the past, unlike the major issue that shook our nation in 1969. Allow me to share the story of a young boy, just 8 years old and in Standard Two, during that tumultuous time.
TUESDAY, MAY 13, 1969
The day started just like any other day. My parents went on their tapping tasks and we followed our routine of walking to school.
Back home later in the afternoon, I busied myself with homework alongside my other schoolgoing siblings. My eldest brother Ayyapan had taken my grandfather home to Bidor, and my second eldest brother Krishnan was in Petaling, about 6km away, where he was working as an intern at a workshop.
Having no television or electricity, our only source of music or news was a battery-operated National (now Panasonic) radio. The Tamil channel would commence at 5am.
Listening to the radio was a real challenge. Most listeners would tie a recycled wire from the radio antenna to any metal part of a window or place the transistor radio on the highest point of a dressing table just to get a clear channel.
RIOTS
Suddenly, at 7.35pm, the Rangkaian Merah Tamil radio station announced a 24-hour curfew in Kuala Lumpur and this was repeated on television at 8pm.
The army had been deployed about 10pm in areas affected by riots. Many people who were unaware of the curfew order were still walking around: they were told to seek shelter immediately.
My parents were in shock. Both my brothers were still out. My mother and sisters began to cry. Being an 8-year-old boy, I was clueless about the commotion.
Our estate had no public phone booth. My father rushed to the estate office to use the telephone. My eldest brother confirmed that he had reached Bidor with my grandfather and would stay there to be safe. There was no rioting in Perak.
Sadly, we were unable to contact my other brother in Petaling. We could only pray for his safety.
Worried neighbours were discreetly talking about fights in Kuala Lumpur. News of deaths and riots filled our home that evening. I could only understand that this was something dangerous and that my brothers were not safely at home with us.
WEDNESDAY, MAY 14, 1969
The estate declared leave. There was no tapping. Everyone was scared of the curfew. The estate management instructed all workers to stay at home and not leave the estate. The men and young adults carried sickles, parang, sticks and pestles around the estate houses, providing security for everyone.
We could see Bukit Gasing from our estate. There was smoke all around the area. Many people were saying that shops, buildings and cars had been burnt in the riots. The authorities told people on the radio to ignore the rumours and that everything was under control.
Schools were closed. So were shops and markets. Traders who frequented our estate ceased coming. Our only estate sundry shop was running out of goods.
We were fortunate that we had lentils and green peas at home, and a gunnysack of rice. We ate plain rice with lentils and murungai (moringa) leaves, papaya and tapioca, and our chickens provided us with meat and eggs.
We heard on the news that the authorities at KL General Hospital reported about 80 dead. We learnt that the army had gathered at crucial road junctions and patrolled the main streets, but young men in areas like Kampung Baru and Pudu chose to ignore the curfew.
This piece of news added to our concern about my brother Krishnan Kutty's condition. We could only pray.
THURSDAY, MAY 15, 1969
The empty gravel road leading to our estate brought to us the view of a young man riding his bicycle with the bright sun as his backdrop. My brother Krishnan was safe.
Everyone in the estate began asking him questions about the tragic incident. My brother had seen lots of policemen, field force personnel and military staff everywhere, but no bodies. It was tranquil all the way home.
The curfew was gradually relaxed as the situation slowly returned to normal. By the end of the month, it was still in force from 3pm till 6.30am the next morning.
SUNDAY, MAY 18, 1969
The estate workers went back to work. Things began to normalise. We still had issues with food supplies until the Chinese traders started opening up their sundry shops. Till the day the shops reopened, we depended on eggs and chicken from our coop and whatever vegetables or fruits we had.
Schools resumed after one week. The radio that was once used merely for entertainment became a valuable source of information for us and an important mouthpiece for the government.
The school was very much the same. The same friends of Malay and Chinese descent, the same games were played, and the same lessons were learnt together, with the same multiracial teachers.
The May 13 incident was not just a black day in Malaysian history, but a sad eye-opener for every peace-loving and honest labourer and his/her family who had never known racial polarisation or discrimination. They did not want to see their loved ones assaulted or killed. They were not educated to understand politics or economics, but they knew that at the height of the May 13 riots, they were all united in safeguarding the interests of their families and neighbours of different ethnicities.
Many thanks to the Bukit Jalil estate workers, whose innocence and diligence in caring for one another are values that I have always abided by.
No matter what happens, we must never have another May 13 or any incident similar to it.