You know election season is coming in Johor when suddenly the Datuks remember where Kampung Perigi Acheh is. For the last four years they’ve been invisible, but now they’re everywhere. Smiling at the pasar pagi, patting babies, holding durian like it’s their first time seeing one. One uncle at my warung said, “Eh, I thought he died already. Turns out he was just in KL.”
That’s the thing about our elections. We don’t just elect wakil rakyats. Sometimes feels like we’re running a lottery to crown the next batch of millionaires.
Look at the math. You win, you get RM8k-RM12k a month as ADUN. Not bad. But wait add allowances, claims, GLC appointments, “chairman” this, “advisor” that. Suddenly you’re clearing RM20k-RM30k a month before you even sweat. Do that for one term, 5 years, and congrats: you’ve got a house in Austin Heights. Now you’re shopping for a second Alphard. And that’s before we talk pension. Serve 36 months, turn 55, and Johor pays you every month till you meet God. MPs get RM15k-RM39k for life.
ADUNs less, but still try finding a mak cik at the market who gets paid after she stops selling nasi lemak.
So the campaign posters should just be honest: “Undi Saya. Saya Akan Jadi Jutawan Demi Anda.” At least it’s transparent.
And who shows up to collect this golden ticket? Usually the same uncles. The “otai” politicians. Perut already labuh, muka dah licin from too many banquets. They’ve got the same speech from 2008. “We will bring development.” Brother, the only thing that developed is your waistline. These guys surface every 5 years like cicadas. You see them at kenduri, they shake hands, kiss your kid, then poof gone until next elections. Try calling their service center after election? The phone number becomes “not in service.” Their Facebook page last updated during CNY three years ago.
Meanwhile, the longkang in front of your house still smells. The streetlight still blinking like disco. Flood comes, who’s there? The young boys from NGO, the budak-budak with banners, not YB. YB is “in meetings.” In KL. Or Dubai.
That’s why a lot of us at the mamak are saying: enough with the dinosaurs. Give us the young ones. The 28, 32-year-old candidates. At least they still remember how to use Google Forms. At least they haven’t learned how to say “we will look into it” with a straight face yet.
Young reps are annoying, sure. They tweet too much. They do TikTok dances at gotong-royong. But you know what? They show up. They don’t have three pensions yet, so they still hungry.
They haven’t been invited to enough golf games to forget what potholes look like. They still get mad when the clinic runs out of Panadol. Because their parents still queue at that clinic.
The old ones? They’ve been “berkhidmat” so long, they think rakyat is a type of kuih. They’ve sat in aircon rooms for 20 years. Their idea of “turun padang” is their driver turun, they stay in the Veldfire. New ideas? Their new idea is hiring their son as special officer.
I’m not saying every young candidate is an angel. Some will also learn how to become millionaires real quick. Power is power. But at least give us new ADUNS with new excuses. The old ones are using the same excuse since Pak Lah’s time. We’re bored of that script.
Johor’s got 56 DUN seats. That’s 56 chances to either hire a new millionaire, or hire someone who’ll actually pick up your call when the monsoon drain bursts. Because here’s the ugly truth: the system is designed to make them rich. RM500/month pension after 36 months, RM25k salary for MPs, GLC posts falling from the sky. You put a cat in that chair, the cat also becomes T20.
So if we’re going to create millionaires anyway, might as well pick the ones who still remember what Maggi kari tastes like. Pick the ones whose parents aren’t Datuks. Pick the ones who get nervous talking to reporters, not the ones who own the newspaper.
Because the fat old ones? They’ll win, they’ll get their pension, and you’ll see them again in 5 years. Holding another durian. Pretending it’s their first time.
This time, maybe we don’t clap. Maybe we ask, “YB, where were you when the road flooded last month?” And if he blinks, we try the kid next to him. At least the kid will Google the answer.
That’s all a common man wants. Not a millionaire. Just someone who remembers we exist after the ballots is counted.
ENDS
By
Sam Trailerman
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