This is a two-part series of an article from the archive of Time magazine on Tunku Abdul Rahman and the making of Malaysia published on 12 April 1963, few months before the birth of the new nation.
Recommended reading for those born after Malaysia Day.
We are still in a state of embroglio.
Part 1
Malaysia:The Man Who
Manila hummed with excitement as delegates gathered for the third annual meeting of the Association of Southeast Asia. Phalanxes of motorcycle police escorted shiny official limousines to meetings at the pale, domed conference hall in the heart of the city. Inside the paneled auditorium and at diplomatic cocktail parties, an endless stream of dignitaries strolled up to greet the man who was the focus of everyone's attention. Malaya's stocky, smiling Prime Minister Abdul Rahman. 60. the golf-playing ex-playboy who this summer will bring into being a new Asian nation.
To one and all. Abdul Rahman happily took credit for the formation of the Malaysian Federation. As he puts it. "I am the father of Malaysia." Strictly speaking, this is not true; the idea has long been the dream of Asian nationalists enchanted by its economic and political prospects. For years. Britain too has advocated the plan as a neat way to tie up all its remaining Asian colonies (with the exception of Hong Kong) into one tidy independent package. But the Tunku (it means Prince) was the indispensable catalyst without whom Malaysia could not have been achieved. He wooed, bullied and cajoled the four other countries into the federation agreement, was the only logical choice to serve as the new nation's first Prime Minister.
Happy, Not Mighty. Unlike most other new Asian leaders, Abdul Rahman is no rabid nationalist. He has remained on close, friendly terms with the British, has no interest in pie-in-the-sky economic schemes. His political aims are simple: "Food instead of bullets, clothing instead of uniforms, houses instead of barracks.'' His new nation has a combat army of only seven battalions and an air force so small that the pilots often have trouble finding a fourth for bridge. "My ambition is not mighty Malaysia," says Abdul Rahman, "but happy Malaysia."
But many pressing problems threaten the Tunku's ambition. Malaysia's current prosperity is endangered by its dependence on a one-crop economy. Synthetics have already captured half the world's annual 5,000,000-ton rubber market and forced down the price of latex. On top of this, Brunei's oil reserves are fast depleting. To counter the economic threat, Malaya has embarked on an ambitious diversification program, is offering a five-year tax holiday to new industries and pushing a big land-development program for new cash crops.
Politically, Malaysia has already experienced some acute pains. Fearful that a stable new nation will curb Communist subversion in Southeast Asia, Russia has branded the federation "a cunning invention of London" set up with the "unqualified support of U.S. imperialists.'' Both neighboring Indonesia and the Philippines have launched a campaign of invective against the whole idea.
Walls of Prejudice. By far Malaysia's most complex and festering problem is the simmering racial hostility between the new nation's Chinese and Malay populations. Throughout the federation, the astute, prosperous, hard-bargaining Chinese dominate business, industry and trade, have economically far outstripped the rural, easygoing Malays. Chinese tycoons control North Borneo's booming young timber industry and Sarawak's vast, rolling pepper gardens; in Malaya. Abdul Rahman's government has complained that the rich, inbred Chinese business community has erected a "wall of prejudice" against ambitious young Malay businessmen.
The Malays have built some walls of their own. By Malayan law. only one-quarter of the government jobs can go to non-Malays, while Malays get special concessions in the granting of scholarships and licenses for new businesses. Rigid citizenship requirements have been set up for the Chinese (Malays are automatically citizens), and the Borneo territories plan immigration restrictions to keep Chinese businessmen out. "Special privileges are like a golf handicap." rationalizes Malaya's Chinese Finance Minister Tan Siew Sin. "They are not to hold the Chinese down, but to help the Malays along."
Golf Every Morning. It is ironically fitting that the complicated problems of federation are the province of a man who. on the face of it. is so uncomplicated himself. "I am a lazy man." admits Abdul Rahman cheerfully, and six years as Malaya's Prime Minister have not altered his funloving ways. The Tunku plays golf every morning (handicap: 24), checks the racing calendar before making advance political engagements, always takes a nap in the afternoon. An avid soccer fan and sports-car buff, he is chronically late for appointments, explains: "Being punctual always wears me out."
The Tunku has the charisma of the really successful politician. His title draws enormous respect from the masses, and at the same time his genuine charm and easygoing manner quickly win their confidence. Though he is a devout Moslem, Abdul Rahman enjoys brandy and soda; he is also an excellent curry cook. With his third wife, Sharifah Rodzia, and their four adopted children (two of whom are Chinese),* the Tunku leads a life of cheerful disorder in Kuala Lumpur's open, airy Prime Minister's residence, allows the 70 children of his servants the run of the house; visiting diplomats are often surprised during a conference to see a servant's child wander into the sitting room and climb up onto the Tunku's lap.
The Tunku has solved the problem of paper work simply: he does not read it. He has always had an aversion to the printed page, as a student picked up the knack of absorbing pertinent passages from books or papers that were read aloud to him. But though he has no intellectual pretensions, the Tunku commands unswerving loyalty from his brilliant subordinates for his almost charmed ability to avoid political mistakes. Says an aide: "He understands the Malay mind better than anyone else ever has." Abdul Rahman agrees. "I have the feel of the people." he says. "I have the touch."
The Playboy Prince. Abdul Rahman was the seventh son of his father's sixth wife and, with his 44 brothers and sisters, lived the plush life befitting the offspring of the Sultan of Kedah. His Siamese mother demanded that he be carried to school on the shoulders of a retainer, and though he was an indifferent student, his royal birth won him a scholarship to Cambridge, where he began to read law. But the Tunku skipped most of his lectures, seldom missed a tea or dinner-dance, distinguished himself mainly by picking up 28 traffic violations in his silver Riley with red fenders.
Not unexpectedly, the playboy prince flunked his bar exams. So far down the line of succession that he had no chance of ever attaining his father's sultanate, the Tunku returned to Malaya as a minor civil servant in a number of remote outposts. On foot and on elephant, he traveled through the bush getting to know the land and the people, once even worked as a manual laborer to help build a new mosque, which the grateful Malays named Rahmaniah after him.
World War II and Japan's swift conquest of the Malayan peninsula hastened Abdul Rahman's maturity. As a useful district officer, the Tunku was kept on the job by the Japanese. Secretly, however, he helped hide escapees from Japanese death camps, kept in contact with British guerrilla units, which were supplying arms to anti-Japanese Communist irregulars in the jungles.
"Who the Hell Is He?" Abdul Rahman was also in contact with the Malayan independence movement that began to take root when the Japanese ousted the British. With the end of the war, at the age of 42, the Tunku returned to England to get his law degree, began to play a larger part in the cause of merdeka (freedom). He insisted that it was the duty of every Malay in Britain to join the nationalistic Malay Society. Because of his age and long experience in the civil service, younger Malay students looked to him as their leader, called him—because of his darker skin—"Black Uncle." In fiery political bull sessions with youthful follower Tun Abdul Razak, the seeds of a future political partnership were being sown; today Razak is the most trusted member of his Cabinet.
Back home, the middle-aging lawyer joined the United Malay Nationalist Organization, slowly began building up a political following in his native Kedah. In other Malay states, the Tunku's firebrand followers from the London days began pushing him for the party leadership; finally, in 1951, Abdul Rahman took over as boss of the U.M.N.O. "Nobody had ever heard of him," an official recalls. "I remember people asking 'Who the hell is he?' "
Part 2 tomorrow.
