An Encounter With A Breed of Special Malays

An Encounter With A Breed of Special Malays
By Mihar Dias
(C) Copyright January 2022

Were you once a “Special Malay” from a kampung and now an educated, contented, wealthy urban, upper-middle-class gentleman living in Kuala Lumpur?

I posed that question to a group of “Special Malays” of seventy-something, energetic and highly enthusiastic walkers, from the Royal Lake Club who were admitted into Special Malay classes, in the 1950s.

By the way, for your information, a Special Malay was a 10-year-old fourth grade Malay school pupil, selected to enrol in an English medium primary in the 1950s and 60s.

“Yes, we were special once. But now, we’re just ordinary. Very ordinary old men! Not so special anymore!”, replied Tan Sri, formerly a high ranking official in the Civil Service. I knew he was being modest because he was on the board of public companies and was formerly the chairman of a bank.

In the background, we heard a cheeky voice saying, “Even our wives don’t think we’re special anymore!” This was followed by a chorus of laughter from everyone around the table at the Garden Cafe. I was not quite sure what it meant but I guessed they were not quite the same virile young men that those women married in their twenties.

Do you still feel that you are special in any way?

“I still feel that what the education system did for us was special. We’re selected from year four in Malay medium to enter a school where the medium of instruction was in English. We hardly knew any English then. The examination was quite tough. I was the only one in my class that made it to an English school. That was the beginning of a series of examinations in my life. We had to repeat standard four in an English school until standard six. Then we had to sit for an entrance exam to enrol in the only government English school in the state”.

Another friend sitting next to him added, “You know what my dad told me then? You have to get into that school because everybody who was anybody in the state went to that school. You should know that it was called a college. I always like to tell everyone that I went to college not a secondary school”. I saw all of them smiling broadly, proud of their old alma mater.

He was referring to Sultan Abdul Hamid College, the only government secondary school in Alor Setar for a long time. Across the road, there was a private secondary school called Saint Michael but it was not as illustrious.

Another Tan Sri who helmed a conglomerate added, “I was in Iskandar Primary, a school headed by Tun M’s dad, Mohamad Iskander. It was a feeder school for the college, so admission was almost a certainty, provided you passed standard six examinations, of course!”.

So, would you say that you guys got to where you are because you were Special Malays?

“Let me put it this way, without English we could not even come close to the gate of this club”. Replied another Dato’ nicknamed the Mayor of Lake Gardens who left school after completing his Senior Cambridge and eventually succeeded in the business world.

If I was not mistaken the 50s Lake Club was a colonial enclave. Members were mostly British. If there was a Malay in the club then he probably would be a guard, a gardener or at most a waiter. Certainly not a voting member.

The Mayor continued, “The British Colonial education policy was to make a son of a farmer a better farmer and the son of a fisherman a better fisherman. In those days Malay schools ended at sixth grade. Once you graduated sixth grade you had to find some form of employment. You could not further your studies. But those in English medium schools were able to pursue higher education in the UK or the University of Malaya in Singapore, like these two Tan Sri here. This Yang Berbahagia, here, went to MU and this best friend of mine was fortunate to get a scholarship to the Inns of Courts in London. Yes, without that Special Malay education scheme we would be ploughing padi fields in Kedah!”

I was quite impressed with what I heard. I had always thought these gentlemen who walked around the Lake Gardens in the morning, were born with silver spoons.

They were hand-picked from Malay schools and turned into English speaking students at an early age. They said the system was quite elitist. From hundreds that entered year one in their secondary school, only 25 were left in form six, or the pre-university class. The two Tan Sri at the table were a few in their class who went on to complete their tertiary education.

They told me some of their classmates were awarded Colombo Plan scholarships to study in New Zealand and Australia. All returned to hold high positions in the civil service after completing their studies.

They still have high regard for the Special Malay education scheme as a game-changer for poor Malays like them, who would otherwise be destined to be hewers of wood and drawers of water. Or perhaps just padi farmers. Or merely fishermen.

Mihar Dias is a content writer under Headliner by Newswav, a programme where content creators get to tell their unique stories through articles and at the same time monetize their content within the Newswav app.
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