I don't know of anyone in the book industry who is not aware of the
Penguin-Random House merger. A new conglomerate called
Penguin Random House (or Penguin House) has been formed and the process registering the
company is (from all current knowledge) going on smoothly in all
countries in the world, except Malaysia. When Penguin Books Malaysia
tried to register the new company in Kuala Lumpur (they moved from
PJ to KL last year) they were told that they could not use the name
because they were not selling houses! They were apparently told that
it was a rule that the company name must reflect their business. So
instead of arguing with that ... that ... whatever ... behind the desk, they have
retained the name Penguin Books Malaysia. Also, apparently, it would not
have been a problem in Selangor. So, there you are.Hilarious and ridiculous as it sound, I am not surprised. I can almost here the dialogue: (Say this in a high-pitched nasal voice that irritates like hell), "No-oo, cannoo-oot. You canno'ot use the name. After, peoples thinks you jual rumah, kan?" Can you imagine Amazon Malaysia trying to registered a company here. Are you selling water?
We have all had these experiences at 'gomen' offices. The moment you step in, you'll feel like you have swallowed a dozen sleeping pills; time will slow to a crawl and gravity will fail. And when you manage to finally speak to someone who is not knitting, or at a Tupperware party, or having a cigarette in the lift lobby, or pegi minum (out for a drink), or on kursus (on a course), who is an actual intelligent life form, you will be so delirious with joy that your spouse will become suspicious that you've been smoking something. (Happened to me.) Kafka had nothing on these people, man!
Malaysia ta'boleh
It was not always like this, though. I joined the service in the early seventies, when it was still a privilege to work in the civil service, although snide remarks about chamblem (salary) and kimblem were already circulating. (Both Tamil words.) Promotions were based on seniority, and everything seemed fair. Sometimes there were seeded players and favourites who went ahead. We tolerated that mostly. Even if you worked under someone junior to you, there was mutual respect. To be fair some deserved their out-of-turn promotions.
As we got nearer the eighties, talk of kulitfication (qualifications based on skin colour) became rampant. We resigned to being second class, and that we had to run three times faster simply to keep our place. Then it became worse. From second class, we became the invisibles. Nobody noticed us anymore. It was as though we didn't exist. Running didn't help, no matter how fast. By the start of the nineties, it became so strange that we would talk about who was getting promoted where as if we ourselves didn't exist! Scary, huh? In Ralph Elison's novel, the Invisible Man, was the underclass, hiding from the world, living underground, and stealing electricity. But we were top professionals at our peak.
Inevitably, many with a lower threshold for pain left; some sooner, others later. (Could this be deemed constructive dismissal?) Many went overseas. Those who remained in the service chose to grit their teeth, live in ignominy and humiliation, swallow any pride they had left for the tiny crumbs that fell off the table, and did just enough work to maintain a weak pulse before they retired. They chose a life of JM Coetzee's Disgrace. They were sometimes respected by their bosses, often decades their junior in seniority and experience. Often not. Sometimes, they were shouted at like schoolboys. (Have you seen a senior officer cry? I have.) After 20 years, it was time to leave. (On rare occasions, there were the token promotions.)
Half the population in now invisible (except when they want our money or votes). There was a report two years ago that one million Malaysians lived overseas, and that most were professionals. For the invisibles who are professionals, a job in the country is no longer an option, let alone one in the civil service. 50,000 students leave the country for tertiary education every year. Most don't come back. In the sixties, the best students attended the one local university. The rest went overseas. Today, the invisibles would not consider a place in a local university, if awarded on a silver platter.
In the story Tash Aw wrote for The New York Times recently, he worried about world perceptions of Malaysia. That was washed down the drain years ago. At Silverfish Books, we often receive visitors from the US. Before they arrive they would read up about the country, including the glowing reports about the 'good Muslim nation' in the New York Times and the Washington Post. But it didn't take long after landing here for reality to sink in, and leave them shell-shocked.
The bomoh's act sort of summed up the MH370 debacle (of handling it, that is). Decades of lateral transfers, bypassed promotions, ignored seniority, solid bullet-proof glass ceilings and a million professionals overseas, has a price. The civil service is bloated with mediocrity and incompetence; a place for lifetime employment, a pension and no work. It's almost like rent seeking. Despite everything, there are some good people still there (doing the work of ten others). But how much can they handle? The rest survive with a bodoh sombong (dumb arrogant) attitude, bullying and playing blame games. (When a school teacher can slap a deputy minister in public and get away with it, it says it all ... you owe me a living!)
The emperor has lost his all his clothes, and he stands stark naked. But will he learn anything? Unfortunately, that's not likely. After Merdeka, some ministers asked Malaysian professionals if they were ready to take over the administration. There was a resounding 'yes'. And they did a good job, too. What if they were asked that question again? Can you do the job?
Malaysia memang ta'boleh.
