STAROBA dot MY

The furor started when Awang Adek casually stated in Dewan Negara that the government was considering approving a license for football betting during the World Cup in June. In fact a few days later, the Federal Government approved a license to one of Berjaya companies for this purpose. And suddenly Awang Adek became victim of his own statement. Hussam called him A-wang Judi and on another site a blogger accused him of "bringing shame to all Kelantanese". These accusations might be vicious but they were made by his political opponents and expected. But when venomous remarks were made by friends and schoolmates then something is obviously wrong with us.

The biggest problem with Awang Adek is he is too nice. Too trustworthy. And his statement about the gambling license was too straight forward as if he was the one issuing the license. Anyone else, especially another politician, would not have made such a straigh forward statement. Another politician would have added a few sentences here and there and then if you read it you would not find anything wrong with the government issuing another gambling license. But not Awang Adek.

I have known Awang Adek for a long time. As a schoolmate. As my train captain back in the 70s. As a Bank Negara officer back in the 80s (my office was across the road from his). As a politician and as a STAROBA president. He was one of those nice guys in school. And still a nice guy out of school. When he was our train leader everything was perfectly in order. But when someone else took over in 1974, the new leader conspired with some of us to split the warrant into individual tickets, sold some of them for immediate profit and in the end we were caught in Gemas without tickets but with a few extra ringgit in our pockets. Awang Adek would not have thought of doing this. And we could not coax him into doing it either.

He was one of the very few who could somehow find space on that narrow train to perform his prayer during that long train journey back to Kelantan. I could not and so were many others. One day last year I went to see him at Kementerian Kewangan in a last desperate attempt to fend off a bank - my company was in a bad shape and I needed help. It was lunch break and time for afternoon prayer. He asked me to wait while he unrolled his prayer rug for the afternoon prayer. Time changes, status changes but piety doesn't. Of course, he wrote that appeal letter to the bank concerned and as expected the bank refused to consider it. But at least he tried. And that's what friends are for.

On that unfortunate day in Dewan Negara, Awang Adek was replying to a question from another senator. I don't know whether it was a written or verbal question but normally questions on gambling are answered by a non-Muslim Minister or Deputy Minister. I was told the gentleman who was supposed to answer that question, a non-Muslim Deputy Minister was overseas so Awang Adek had to stand for him. Forgotten by many was his qualifying remark - the license was meant for non-Muslims only.

Muslims are by law, forbidden from gambling at state-sanctioned or legalised gambling outlets. There are signboards at these outlets advising Muslims about this. Penalty varies by state but in Wilayah Persekutuan you might be fined RM3,000.00 for the offence. The signboard or notice is not much difference from the one you see at some non-Muslim shops selling alcohol in Kelantan. Yes, they do sell alcohol in Kelantan. Yes they do issue alcohol licenses in Kelantan. In fact, the state PAS MB in a statement made a few years ago to justify this, said alcohol sale was permissible to non-Muslims and taxes collected would be used to repair roads etc . As a Kelantanese, I do not find anything wrong with it. In fact, I do not think of Nik Aziz as a confused Muslim for allowing alcohol to be sold in the state. As long as the state forbids the sale of alcohol to Muslims my respect for Nik Aziz would not diminish. If I could not find fault with Nik Aziz then I could not find any fault with Awang Adek either. Nik Aziz is a head of state (and chairs the state cabinet or what we normally call Exco) but Awang Adek is not. Factually, Awang Adek is not even a member of the Federal Cabinet where the decision to legalise football gambling was probably made. To accuse Awang Adek goes a bit too far.

I am sure Awang Adek is opposed to gambling in whatever form. Just like I am sure most PAS Exco members in Kelantan are opposed to alcohol sale in whatever form. But then we do not live in a perfect world.

I was 18 years old in 1975. Rebellious, carefree, crazy and most important of all, stupid. By early 1975, Yahaya Shafie, popularly known as Pak Ya to many students, had been the headmaster for more than a year. Yahaya Shafie was not your typical headmaster - he was a man bent on creating a disciplined school of students. He would not tolerate any form of indiscipline, however minor it might seem to look like. Punishment for it was swift, orthodox and harsh. In his crusade towards perfection, he would not accept defeat. He would not expel anybody but would go all the way to persuade - in his own harsh ways - the delinquent and wayward students the importance of toeing the line.

A typical example was the case of drug usage among the students. In mid-70s, heroin (or popularly called "pek hoon") was available freely in Ipoh. A group of Form Four and Form Five students freely indulged in heroin for almost a year. When Pak Ya found out, he did not expel them but instead he put them in a separate place for rehabilitation. And he succeeded. Two of my classmates who could not overcome the addiction chose to walk away from the school instead of facing the wrath of Pak Ya. Others miraculously were saved by Pak Ya harsh method of rehabilitation.

When I was in Form Four, Pak Ya introduced compulsory morning prayer and everybody had to attend. That's how my problem started. I was not fond of waking up early in the morning and I thought the worst thing that could happen was two days of detention class. I was wrong about the whole thing - it was not the prefects who would wake me up from slumber but Pak Ya himself holding a big cane in his hand. It happened not once but a few times and by then he had already marked me as a delinquent. At other times, I was caught with my shirt unbuttoned at the top, not wearing the school badge, not wearing socks, eating without fork and spoon, late for class, late for dinner and countless minor offences. My biggest offence happened late in 1974 when he stopped me near the main foyer and asked me to empty all my pockets - and found two sticks of cigarettes. Smoking was a big no-no for him. And for that I was caned four times. That was not the only occasion I had been caned - there were many but that was the first time I was caned four times simultaneously. It hurt but by then I was so used to caning that I didn't give a damn about it.

When I went home for the third-term holiday my father showed me a letter from Pak Ya. He wrote to my father saying I had failed countless of times to comply with school rules and regulations and he asked my father for a special permission to punish me if I ever break the rules again. Of course, my good old father wrote back to him saying something like "do what is best".

1975 was the year of living dangerously. In our first assembly, Pak Ya told us he would no longer tolerate anyone smoking. He said he had stopped the drug scourge in the school and it was time to tackle the root of this scourge; smoking. I didn't take it seriously for I thought he would not have the time and manpower to check everybody in school. But I was wrong. He had in mind a particular group of students. My locker was ransacked, my pockets were emptied and often I was caught with cigarettes hidden in my locker or in my pockets and on one occasion hidden inside my socks. Of course, the punishment was either a sharp slap on the face or the standard caning. When it was my turn to be caned, he would then say to me "your father has given me permission to punish you" and because of that permission, my punishment was always doubled. If anyone else was caned once, I would be caned twice.

Then he started random checks on students coming back from town on Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday. Soon it became harder to buy and hoard cigarettes and mind you, the number of smokers was increasing all the time. It used to be easy to buy cigarettes - you just go to the servants' quarters and behind the surau you find a locked gate. Climb the gate, walk through the dense bush for 200 meters and you would meet a road to Kg Baru Ampang. Walk about a mile and after Politeknik Ungku Omar you would find a small Chinese coffee shop - and there you could buy cigarettes. That was the nearest place to buy cigarettes. Otherwise you would have to buy it in Ipoh town. We used to do it at night but in early 1975, a Chinese Special Branch officer was shot and killed by communist assassins near that particular shop. Whenever we tried to go to the shop at night, a group of policemen in plainclothes would turn us back. And another reason was Pak Ya's instruction to the workers living at the servants' quarters - they had to report any student loitering there. And one day during Monday assembly, he himself declared the area near the workers' surau as a no-go area for all students. Anyone found loitering there would be caned. It was as simple as that.

Then the law of supply and demand took effect. The demand for cigarettes was high and the supply was low and someone had to profit from it. And everyone thought I was the only one capable of breaking the barricade. So almost all of them agreed to appoint me as their barricade-breaker for around $2 a go. Well, a pack of Benson and Hedges (20 sticks) cost only $1 back then so it was, in a way, a generous offer.

And I needed the money too. Not that my father never sent me any money. Every month, unfailingly, he sent me $20. It was $20 when I was in Form Remove and $20 when I was in Form Five. When I was in Form Five I had six other siblings at various boarding schools in the country so it was impossible for my father to send me more without breaking his tight budget. And in 1975, I had gone crazy over Hindi movies. So whenever my father sent me money I spent it on the latest Hindi movies with not much to spare even to buy cigarettes. Therefore, the $2, not counting the free cigarettes, was a blessing to me. I could make up to $20 extra a month from the job.

But unknown to me, another group of students at the same time, was planning an even bigger thing. They were planning a demonstration against Pak Ya. Yes, I heard about the rumor but I was not at all interested in it. I was living in my own world where teachers, prefects, bodgers and belia had no role. After all, it never crossed my mind that anyone could be foolish enough to challenge the might of Pak Ya. Their reasoning that Pak Ya was too harsh - to the students, too harsh with the teachers, too stingy with the food in the dining hall etc were issues that were not dear to me. To me then, chicken whether it was curried, fried or barbecued tasted just like chicken. Food was never a big issue for me. I had never gone hungry in STAR.

My first few trips were quite successful. I made my money and the syndicate got their cigarettes. And I had to do it around 5:00 pm. Too late at night, I would be turned back by the police before I could even reach Kg Baru Ampang. Too early at night, some nosing prefects might take note of my absence during the prep and report it to Pak Ya. My only risk was being seen by some of the workers but at 5:00 pm no one was at the surau so I felt quite safe.

Then on the next trip I saw Pak Ya's car, moving slowly very near to the RTM station. I hid behind some thick bushes near Herselett Camp and when the car passed again on the way back to the school, I continued with my errand. Pak Ya must be taking his afternoon drive, that's what I thought. And that's where I was wrong.

A few days later disaster struck. The time was around 6:00 pm and I was on my back to the hostel from Kg Baru Ampang and I had three packs of freshly bought Benson and Hedges in my pocket when from a distance I saw a car, very similar to Pak Ya's car and it was driving straight towards me. Suddenly the car stopped and I saw Pak Ya alighting. I ran as fast as I could and hid among the tall lallang within the Herselett Camp. He was searching for somebody - he looked around and after 5 minutes he started his car and drove off. It was a frightening moment for me.

I walked slowly to the gate. I was surprised to see a number of prefects near the surau. Shit, I told myself. I walked away from the gate to the Dairy Road. If they thought they could catch me at the gate, I would prove them wrong. There was a big drain behind the late Ustaz Muhammad's house and it was not difficult to sneak under it and back into the school compound. But once again I saw another group of prefects just in front of White House. They must have been instructed by Pak Ya. I had no choice but to hide among the tall lallang and bushes at Herselett Camp. I knew no prefect would dare to go there. The place was dark and eerie in its own kind of way and one of the favorite hunting grounds for local transvestites.

By then it was almost dark. I had to make my move fast before the school's workers started their maghrib prayer at the surau. I peeked around and I saw no prefect, not even a soul near the surau. Unhesitatingly, I climbed the fence and when I jumped down a figure moved out from behind the surau. It was Pak Ya and I was caught.

Pak Ya then said, "Mat apa kamu buat panjat pagar ni? Sudah seminggu saya duk perhati kamu." Well, he called everybody Mat and I guess with 800 students it was difficult to memorize all the names. It would be much easier and polite for him to call everybody Mat. To be honest, I was shivering with fear - but he didn't slap nor did he manhandle me. He asked me to clean out my pockets and out came three packs of Benson and Hedges. And some loose change. He took the cigarettes and gave me back my change. By then a number of workers were already near the surau. He took my cigarettes and gave all of them to one of the workers. And he asked me to follow him. His car was parked near the dining hall and nobody except for the cooks was around. Everyone else was at the school hall, ready for maghrib prayer. He drove me to his office. He parked at the entrance of the school hall and when he pulled me out of the car I heard something which I never heard before. Loud, murmuring sound made by 800 students. As Pak Ya pulled me towards his office the murmur became louder. Pak Ya stopped on his track and released me. He confronted the students and asked them to stop. Instead those at the back started to boo him. I knew something was wrong and I guess Pak Ya knew it too.

Then he turned to me and said "Mat pergi balik hostel dan mandi". What a lucky day for me, I quickly ran as fast as I could to the Black House and when I turned back I saw Pak Ya driving off and the students started to run out of the hall with fists raised as if on murderous spree. And that was the last time ever I saw Pak Ya in STAR.

The students then started to congregate on the field in front of the school hall shouting all kinds of slogans against Pak Ya. I quickly joined them on the field and stood in front of them all like a choir leader. By then a number of wardens and teachers had moved in but every time they said something, I asked the junior students to boo them. It was the most stupid thing I ever done in my life. I had made myself the leader of the demonstration without even knowing anything about the motives for the demonstration. And the real leaders, those who planned the demonstration must have been quite pleased with my stupid antic. And later on, I would pay dearly for it. (pic: a students demo in Iran)

There was no dinner that night. Somebody had instructed the students to boycott the dinner. Instead we sat all night long shouting all kinds of slogans against Pak Ya. And there was no prayer too. The day after, everyone dressed up in their school uniforms and after breakfast, once again they moved on to the field and suddenly I saw banners being unfurled. Banners with harsh words against Pak Ya. Of course, I despised Pak Ya but in a real sense I didn't hate him. Whatever my feeling was, once again I stood in front of everybody else orchestrating the show as if I was the true leader of the demonstration.

At noon, a teacher came with a hailer and asked all the students to go to the dining hall for lunch since the late Tun Hamdan would be arriving within an hour and he wanted to see all the students in the school hall at 1:00 pm. It had a sudden, cooling effect on the students. All the banners were gone, all the shouting diminished and everyone walked to the dining hall satisfied. They had got Tan Sri Hamdan (he was a Tan Sri back then) to listen to their woes. We met the late Tun Hamdan in the school hall and we were made to stand for two hours while spoke about discipline, about tradition and about the need to channel our dissatisfaction the proper way. After that I was called to the headmaster's room and he asked me why I led the demonstration. My first words were, "No, sir, I didn't do that" but he raised his hand as if to slap me. So I just kept quiet. I could see he was really angry. He grumbled about many things and then I was let go.

We had never seen Pak Ya again after that. A few months later a guy by the name of Zainal Abidin became the new headmaster. He was not a disciplinarian. The biggest impact the demonstration had on me was money - almost all the senior boys could walk in and out of the school with impunity and no one had any need for a barricade-breaker like me. Life could have been better under Pak Ya.

In March 1976, the school informed me I got Grade 1 with three distincions. But I failed my Add Maths and Ugama Islam. My father was quite pleased with my achievement and he gave me $100.00. He didn't expect me to do any better than Grade 2. After that everything was quiet. I had not applied for UPM, UTM or ITM and my father expected me to attend Form Six just like my siblings before me. While everybody else was packing to go overseas and local universities I was at home doing nothing. By June my father was restless and he called the school. I guess he knew the answer by then because one day he gave me some money and asked me to go back to STAR and collect my certificate. When I reached school, they gave me my certificate and a teacher told me 11 of us were blacklisted from attending Form Six because of the demonstration. However, I could apply for a placement at other schools with conditions. I never asked him what the conditions were.

Two months later I was placed in Form Six at Sultan Ismail College Kota Bharu. There were strings attached. There was no scholarship, no longer any Federal Minor scholarship and I had to do Double Maths. I told the State Education Director I had failed my Add Maths but he told me he could do nothing about it. There were 12 of us in Lower Six Double Maths and I was the only Malay. The class teacher and the others tried to help me but Maths was not my kind of subject and I did miserably. Then I started to skip classes and ended up in Sg Golok and my father came to know about it and one day he gave me a bus ticket to Kuala Lumpur and asked me to bring my MCE certificate with me. He told me my uncle, who was an MCS officer in Kuala Lumpur, would wait for me at the bus station. His driver waited for me at the bus station and when I reached his house the first thing he said to me was, "You dressed up like a country bum". I was wearing slippers, jeans and T-shirt. He gave me $100 to buy new clothes and a piece of paper with a name on it and said I needed to go to ITM and meet this guy. He told me he was having a meeting that day and I needed to find my own way to ITM but he would call the guy.

I kept the money and went to ITM. It was October and the college had already started for almost three months. I passed the note to the guy's secretary and like my uncle he said the same thing, I dressed up like a bumpkin. Then he asked me what course I wanted to do and I told him architecture. Then he took a look at my MCE certificate and I thought his serious face turned jovial for a moment and he gave me a stark choice - he would put me in an external course and not architecture. And with $150 in my pocket I started a new life in ITM.

Many years later after I had started working I bumped into Pak Ya. One day I was having my breakfast at a hotel in Kuala Lumpur when a waiter came and said guys at another table wanted me to join them. It was Pak Ya and his friends. When I went to shake his hand he told everybody I was his former student and a good student too and he was proud of me. And from his eyes and his gesture I knew he had no malice against me. Maybe he knew all along I was not the real leader of that demonstration.

I never knew who the true leaders of the demonstration were. I was just the catalyst for the demonstration. But out of stupidity, I tried to be a cheap hero and I paid for it.