The Malay Votes DAP!

The Malay Votes DAP!
Posted by Raja Petra
Thursday, 13 March 2008

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Can you imagine, Malays who for a life time being told that their enemy comes in the shape of the red Rocket, putting an "X" against the Rocket? It must have been the hardest thing to do for many of them, if not most. And yet they did it.

Paul Warren

Kit has still not got around to feeling like DAP is now government. He still thinks he has to oppose everything!

Kit has to realise that the DAP's role for now and for the remaining five years is to address the senses and sensivities of all those Malays who voted for DAP, the red Rocket.

Can you imagine, Malays who for a life time being told that their enemy comes in the shape of the red Rocket, putting an "X" against the Rocket? It must have been the hardest thing to do for many of them, if not most. And yet they did it.

If Kit lacks imagination let me help him see better.

Just look at the ordinary Malay who had for a life time been supporting UMNO and looked upon UMNO as his personal saviour.

Ever since 2004 he has been finding himself in a state of confusion, and he was unable to voice it lest he be called a traitor to the race. Yet the arrogance, the lies and the failures of his leaders were not lost on him. The unsympathetic attitude towards the non-Malays, he too noted. He did know that this was not part of the Malay culture.

Leading up to 8 March, he was reduced to embarrassment for his race if the behaviour of UMNO and its leaders was what UMNO represented.

He is angry now too. So angry that he will give the devil a hearing. But he knows in his heart that its a river fraught with uncertainty, more so, one that may put his race and religious leanings on an unknown plateau. But he has to cross it.

He wakes up in the morning for his morning prayer, having had such a restless night. He pleads to his Allah to just consume him completely so that he need not feel the guilt of casting his vote for that kafir Rocket. He even sheds a tear for he knows what he has to do.

He tries, but breakfast is just so hard to swallow. He feels the hollow in his gut and the shortness of breath. Takes his shower, puts on his best and like the condemned who steps out for the last time from his cell to be hung, he steps out of his house. Even asking to be forgiven for his actions.

The way to the polling station is just a stoid blank. All that he knows is that he may have been UMNO or a PAS supporter all his life. They are of his kind. The Rocket represents gambling, alcohol, pork, chauvinism. That is what he has been told and that is all that he has believed. And yet there is something from deep within that tells him he must.

Now he goes through the gates of the polling station. Enquires and determines the classroom he has to cast his vote in. He prepares to get his wallet out to retreive his MyKad. His hands shiver. He is unable to apply pressure on his MyKad to pinch and pull it out of the wallet.

He takes a deep breath and utters a prayer. Manages to pull out the MyKad. He puts the wallet in his back pocket. Looks up to the classroom. Another deep breath. Wills himself to walk. He is not thinking anymore. His head is spinning. What he has set himself to do goes against everything he has known about himself and his place in this God given land.

He cannot think anymore. He can feel a dampness in his eyes. He knows why he is grieving. He just does not know if he indeed is the personification of Judas or Brutus. Judas, maybe not. He has not received his 30 pieces of silver. No one offered. But Brutus?

He is begining to feel his leg shiver. Then go jelly. He does not feel the concrete under his feet. He has to go up the stairs to his polling station. He grabs hold of the hand rail. For the first time he needs support and for the first time he recognises and acknowledges his trepidation.

Takes another deep breath, and summons all his strength to walk up the two flights of steps briskly. Approches the entrance to the classroom. Does not look at or acknowledge the policeman sitting at the door. He catches his breath. His heart is heavy. His mind a blank. He is on auto-pilot.

There is just one person queing ahead of him. Just darkness in his mind. But then again coming right up to here he has not really considered the consequences of his actions. He now sees himself accused the traitor of the community. He sees himself approaching Allah upon his death. He is lost for words to account for his actions. He needs time to reconsider. He has not looked at all the issues and the factors. But it is now his turn. It is too late.

He can feel his throat becoming dry. There is shortness of breath. There is anxiety. Hands over his I/C and that BN issued card that sets out his Electoral Roll details. He does not hear the SPR official call out his 4 digit Polling Station number. He does not hear his name. Here on he is on auto pilot. Nothing registers. Takes the ballot paper that is handed to him. Halts and takes a look at it. He just cannot read anything. He just looks at the symbols. The "dacing", and below that the Rocket and what looks like a strange Chinese name.

He just cannot feel anything now. He walks towards the polling booth. He is almost blinded. He is in a state of confusion. Its contradicting and conflicting emotions. One last time he does not feel the concrete below him. His legs are like jelly and it is like as if there is a force that is providing him motion. It is not him anymore. He has turned into his booth. He sees the black leaded pencil. Stares at it. The final stabbing. Hesitantly he picks up the pencil and takes a look at it. Brutus' dagger!

He puts the ballot paper flat on the school desk. Its a primary school. The desk top is even lower. He stoops and takes one last look at the ballot paper. He sees the dacing.

There is adrenaline. His blood is pumping. He feels the energy. The energy of betrayal. Not his. UMNOs! His eyes are burning with anger. He knows it is not him but it is UMNO that has destroyed all traces of what he knows to be a Malay. It is not about ketuanan. It is not about bullying. It is not about being inhospitable. It is not about being arrogant. It is not about being deceitful. It is not about being corrupt. It is not about being liars. It is not about being cheaters. And certainly it is not about arrogance. We are humble people.

His blood boils. He is an angry man. For himself. His country. His race. His religion. His family. His community. He feels cheated. By UMNO.

Takes one last look. His hands go straight to the bottom of the ballot. The empty square next to the rocket is his target. He presses hard on the pencil so that he makes a deep impression. Top left to bottom right he draws the first line. Then from the bottom left to the top right he crosses the first. It is to DAP. The deed is done. Ceaser, is slain!

Puts down the pencil. The deed is done. He does not want to look. He folds the ballot paper through misty eyes. First one. Then another fold.

There is a certain sense of peace. The rush of adrenaline has quietened. The warm to hot sensation is quickly being replaced by an uncanny coldness. Cold sweat!

Takes a step back. Looks straight ahead at the transparent ballot box. Gives it a sceptic's snigger. Walks straight up. But the walk is heavy. Each step is heavy. He feels the hardness of the concrete. Drops it and watches it as it reaches the pile of ballots already in there. Somehow he knows that he is not all alone. Those other ballots are those from his friends and neighbours. No, they did not speak about who they were going to vote for. They had not colluded. It has all come together. No. They had also not gone to any DAP ceramahs either. They only debated about UMNO. There was hardly any discussion about the DAP. The red Rocket! The demon!

Takes a deep breath and with a sigh of relief that the deed is done, he moves out unsure, confused, lost. But he only has one thing to console him. It needed to be done.

He goes home. Quiet. Recoiled and in deep thought about what he has done. He does not speak or acknowledge anyone. He can't afford to look at another in his or her eye. But then the other is also lost in the same dilemma. Yet unable to share. This is a burden he has to carry himself.

The night of the results, he waits anxiously. He worries and is sad to see the walls of Jericho crumbling. He is silent. He has no opinions. Then it is the Parlimentary and State Constituency that he voted in. There is a buzz in his ears. He just does not register. There is not a celebration. His wife, teenaged children, they are shocked. They look fearfully anxious. There is despair in the air. Almost coming to tears. He looks at them starring at them questioningly. They can see that he did not register. They all are looking at him like as if they have seen a ghost.

Then the young one comes up to him, hesitating, quivering and almost in tears. Takes hold of the wooden arm of the rattan chair. "Pak. Pak. DAP menang, UMNO kalah. UMNO kalah."

Long pause. Silence. Everyone look at him with wide open eyes for a response. They wait.

"Inshiallah".

He does not speak a word. He gets up. He goes to the bedroom. Closes the door. Pulls out his prayer rug. Goes down on the floor. Tears in his eyes. Is it a prayer of thanksgiving? Is it a prayer of despair? Is it a prayer of anxiety?

I don't know. I shall never know.

I am not Malay. I am Bangsa Malaysia. But tears are welling up in my eyes as I write this last bit.

Lim Kit Siang. I do hope you read this!