THE Indonesian independence struggle was deeply intertwined with the roles of the Javanese gentry, known as the Prijaji, who held administrative and social power during the Dutch colonial period.
These elites were educated, often Westernised, and placed in bureaucratic roles by the colonial authorities, allowing them to accumulate influence.
However, the tides shifted as many among the Prijaji began to support the growing nationalist movement.
Figures like Sukarno, himself from a Prijaji background, helped channel the aspirations of the common people into a full-blown independence struggle.
Sukarno's vision of life and society emphasised justice and equity. He promoted Marhaenism, a socio-political philosophy named after a destitute peasant he met, Marhaen, who symbolised the underprivileged masses.
Marhaenism became a rallying cry for Indonesia's fight for independence, rooted in the idea that the struggle was not just about freedom from colonial rule but also about addressing socio economic inequalities.
The Javanese gentry, despite their privilege, found themselves at a crossroads. Some, like Sukarno, embraced the call to arms and sought to align their status with the broader aspirations of the Indonesian people.
Others remained tied to the colonial order, hesitant to risk their standing in the upheaval that independence would bring.
This tension between tradition and revolutionary change mirrors the way many elites, across cultures, struggle with the pull of historical privilege versus the demands of a changing society.
The Malay gentry today faces a parallel challenge. The newly minted Malay T20 class —created almost out of thin air due to the New Economic Policy (NEP) —is increasingly out of touch with reality, often oblivious to the problems facing fellow Malays.
Many among them can be seen as opportunistic social climbers, benefiting from state support without reciprocating the responsibility that comes with it.
The NEP, while successful in uplifting many Malays, has also bred a class of elites who have distanced themselves from their humble beginnings, much like the Prijaji who were once criticised for being disconnected from the struggles of ordinary Indonesians.
Contemporary Malaysia, like Indonesia in its early post-colonial era, sees this growing divide between the elites and the masses.
The socio-economic standing of Malays, especially those in the T20 category, reveals deep questions about social responsibility and the widening gap within the community.
A sentiment of kacang lupakan kulit is emerging — the notion that some among the T20 have forgotten their roots, their humble beginnings, and the fact that much of their success was funded by the people.
This disconnection is particularly striking when contrasted with Malaysia's Chinese community, where the ethic of giving back —supporting schools like Chung Hwa, universities, and hospitals like Tung Shin —is deeply ingrained.
The Chinese have built their own social safety nets, while many Malays remain dependent on government aid, vulnerable and susceptible to economic shifts, lacking the self-reliance that drives upward mobility in other communities.
Worse still, we're now seeing the rise of spoon-fed elites —individuals who treat government money as if it's their own, hogging scholarships and lucrative government contracts, and perpetually cycling through well paid positions in government linked companies.
Many of them remain in these jobs well past retirement age, often failing to deliver, but leveraging their connections to political figures and parties.
This patronage system, where unscrupulous elites engage in shameless self-promotion while remaining entrenched in positions of power, has become a festering problem.
These elites continue to receive rewards, not because of performance, but because of who they know. It's a closed loop of privilege, with little regard for merit or the broader population.
The gentry in Europe, for instance, were landowners and elites who sat just below the nobility, with wealth but also a strong sense of social obligation.
They were expected to lead, to give back, and to serve their communities, which helped bind society together.
In Indonesia, the Prijaji held a similar role, often involved in administration and later the independence struggle. They had a foot in both worlds —advocating for the people while also maintaining ties to the old order.
But even they, during Indones i a's post-colonial era, faced accusations of being out of touch, disconnected from the very people they claimed to represent.
Back to Malaysia —there's a growing divide within the Malay community. The T20, who have climbed the socio-economic ladder, seem increasingly isolated from the broader population, less likely to contribute back to the people.
The challenge for Malaysia is this: how do you encourage the T20 to remember where they came from, to re-engage with the broader community, and to recognise that their success is not theirs alone —it belongs to the people?
The potential for these elites to become mentors, role models, and contributors to social equity is enormous. But until they do, the gap between them and the rest of the Malay population will only continue to grow.
The writer is an adjunct lecturer at Universiti Teknologi Petronas, international relations analyst and a senior consultant with Global Asia Consulting. He has a background as a senior researcher at the Malaysian Institute of Economic Research.