In the wretched human hubris that is nomination day, the dire need for introspection and circumspection is glaring.
The honourable quest to run for office for the privilege of being a yang berhormat, either as member of parliament or state assemblyman, has evolved into philosophical worriments, solely because the bourgeois mob can elevate or ruin our lives. Campaigning is usually banal or outrageous, participated by an infinitesimal fraction of the population, almost 1,000 wannabes to a 33-million population.
The post-Merdeka roots of political representation are humble, its pursuit met with reluctance, that only a selected few were coaxed or begged to run. Steadily, the ideological idea of embracing nationalism was deemed practical and patriotic. Soon, it progressed into an enterprise of community service and welfare while exploring socio-economic, educational and religious convictions that reverberated the national consciousness.
The idea that community service equals civic duty was lodged during the quaint era, when civic lessons were part of the school curriculum. Reality sank in: the innocence of the 1960s crashed after that seismic three-day race riots and our easy-going social mores died with it.
The 1970s depressed into a hangover of turbulent socio-economic changeovers that made the yang berhormat helpless or lacking nous to grasp these paradigm busters. They were swamped: the 1980s swelled with tidal waves of corporatisation, privatisation and industrialisation, trampling underfoot the courteous idealists of the artisan class. The new power balance was weighed down by technocrats and professionals, who cleared the human rubble for the debut of smaller but over-privileged capitalists and plutocrats. Thus, the honourable pursuit segues into vulture culture, defined by the obsession to contest with feral intensity.
The cliche holds: we are shocked but unsurprised at the perilous and brute electioneering that culminates on nomination day. While most handovers of candidacies are examples of civilised chivalry, others are an epidemic of yelling, wailing, weeping, instigating, fighting, backstabbing and even rioting.
The partisan mob's incantations are predictable: our candidates are honest and competent, while yours are racists, corrupt and downright deplorable. Preferred candidates are discreditably dropped, casuistically snubbed by party leadership or disqualified. In all, scuffles and tear gas boil over, with anti-riot police intervening amid furious candidature back-pedalling to appease the mad crowd.
This combative skirmishes pivot to the 3Rs — recognition, rewards and riches. Candidates glibly chime that they "want to serve the people", but their power blocs discolour the slogan: handsome handouts are distributed and gone with it, the concept of sacrificial service. The correlation of winning elections and government empowerment inevitably points to the lucrative largesse of the 3Rs. Our version of barnstorming may be the surest road to perdition but, we are loathed to admit, it is addictive, entertaining and an ordained way of life.