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| July 10, 2008 |
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MALAYSIA IN TURMOIL
Cracking the whip at Umno
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| By Karim Raslan, For The Straits Times | |
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MOST Malaysians have been appalled by the succession of press
conferences, statutory declarations, accusations and
counter-accusations that have hogged headlines for the past two weeks. The mud-slinging has made Malaysia the laughing stock of Asia. But Malaysians can't just turn their backs on what's happened because there are important lessons to be learnt from the experience. First and foremost is the need to proceed with the stalled reform agenda. In 2004, Prime Minister Abdullah Badawi promised change. He failed to deliver and suffered the consequences on March 8, after which he reiterated the same promises. Now, more than ever, amid the debris of numerous scandals, the entire nation can see the extent to which crucial institutions - the police, the judiciary and the prosecution in particular - have been weakened and politicised. Malaysians cannot wait for the Umno leadership battle to be resolved and the Prime Minister cannot disappoint them again. Malaysians will forgive neither him nor his party. He must act and push the conservatives within the Cabinet to move forward. Second, the government's credibility must be safeguarded. As Mr Shabery Chik, one of the more open-minded Cabinet ministers, says: 'Credibility is something you build up. But once it's lost, it's very difficult to regain.' Given the current pathetic levels of trust, the government has a lot of work to do. Third, Umno needs to be brought to heel and disciplined. Many of the current problems faced by the nation are due to Umno's overwhelming influence within the administration and the inability of its leadership to control prominent party members, especially the all-powerful division chiefs. There is a web of relationships linking the party, the civil service, business and the security apparatus. This network needs to be opened up and subjected to scrutiny. Backroom deals have to be exposed to the light of day. For decades, Umno has presented itself as the saviour of the Malays and arbiter of the national consensus. Past party leaders such as Tun Dr Ismail and Tun Abdul Razak were wise and pragmatic. But Umno has since become middle-aged and lazy. Its cikgu or teacher ethos of the past has been usurped by the wheeler-dealer businessman in his black SUV. Now, as the Malay proverb says, pagar makan padi - the fence devours the rice, the guardian has turned on its charges. Umno chiefs, warlords and their financial backers - rumours suggest the party's upcoming leadership contest will involve hundreds of millions of ringgit - must be accountable to the Constitution and the institutions of state. If they break the law, they should suffer the consequences. This is where the reform agenda - the calls for a more open, fair and law-abiding Malaysia - is important. Malaysians need Datuk Seri Abdullah to remain focused on this agenda. Get it right and the reform agenda will be his legacy. Get it wrong and nothing else will save him. But many in Umno don't consider this to be a priority. For them, it's secondary - the kind of issue only liberals, spoilt middle-class journalists and noisy lawyers are interested in. Whenever I discuss such matters with Umno types, they'll reply: 'Karim, the voters in my kawasan don't care about these things.' I have to disagree: Umno's poor showing in the March 8 elections was due to its refusal to acknowledge and address core issues of justice, fairness and equality - issues that Malaysians directly experience when 'enterprising' Umno leaders suddenly acquire large houses and countless expensive cars and go on lavish foreign holidays. Still, there are those in the Cabinet like Zaid Ibrahim and Shahrir Samad who do recognise these weaknesses and have tried to convince their colleagues that restoring trust in institutions is a top priority. Mr Shabery, for one, says refreshingly: 'We need to realise that we do have a track record and culture of service. We needn't be afraid of openness.' The ugly face-off between opposition leader Anwar Ibrahim and Deputy Prime Minister Najib Razak can be directly attributed to the current imbalance of authority - on the one hand, a severely compromised security and legal apparatus and, on the other, a pumped-up executive beholden to no one but the party and its warlords. This has created an environment riddled with corruption, slovenliness, self-importance and racism. The credibility crisis is eating away at the Malaysian consensus. It is undermining its capacity to move forward at a critical juncture economically when leadership and focus are required to guide the nation through a period of inflationary turbulence. Malaysians do not trust the security apparatus to act fairly and impartially. And this lack of trust has emboldened opposition leader Anwar to play to the gallery. He knows that in the absence of a credible legal forum, the court of the public becomes the ultimate arbiter of his innocence or guilt. Umno, the party of Merdeka, must come to terms with modernity. The party has lost all sense of propriety and service. It is focused on serving its own needs. The mass of Malays and Malaysians has been forgotten. The writer is a Malaysian columnist.
SPUN OUT OF CONTROL Umno needs to be brought to heel and disciplined. Many of the current problems faced by the nation are due to Umno's overwhelming influence within the administration and the inability of its leadership to control prominent party members, especially the all-powerful division chiefs.
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In the middle of Adelaide, bounded by Gouger and Grote streets, is Central Market, the city's pulsing heart. Built in 1869, as a food market it has outlasted Covent Garden in London and Les Halles in Paris. With its mix of cafés, sweet shops, meats, the freshest fruit and vegetables, and the occasional strolling players, it offers families a glorious one-stop mix of food, shopping and entertainment.
Central Market reflects how Australia has changed from being an outpost of the western, meat and potatoes world to somewhere that has become deliciously cosmopolitan with a very Asian slant.
On my first visit, about 11 years ago, I went looking for laksa. Having been told that Asian Gourmet, a small café at the market, cooked fresh pots of this Malaysian speciality daily, I hurried there as fast as I could and left with a smile of total satisfaction.
Imagine a large, steaming bowl of rice noodles with prawns and chicken and bean curd, immersed in a reddish, lemon grass-perfumed coconut curry sauce, as fiery and flavourful as a human hand can produce, topped with a mélange of raw, crunchy vegetables and herbs - bean sprouts, cucumber bits, sliced red chillies, spring onions and Vietnamese mint - served with a side of chilli sambal and lime slices.
This is curry laksa. There are many regional variations of this soupy, Malaysian noodle dish. I was introduced to my first bowl in Penang, the city's very own tamarind-soured assam laksa. Here was Asia's answer to southern France's fish soup, a very exotic version, where, instead of the dollop of the garlicky rouille on top, the soup had been showered with a fine julienne of a pink, highly aromatic, wild ginger flower and slivers of fresh, sour pineapple. I was won over on the spot. How was I to know that a few days later, a plane-ride away in Kuala Lumpur, I would be seduced by its sisterly southern version, curry laksa.
Since that time, I have been looking for laksas everywhere. I have made a quick meal of them at Malaysian airports on my way from here to there, I have eaten them in Singapore where they have a devoted following and then, to my great delight, I found them in Australia.
The family that prepared it was Malaysian, part of a wave of south-east Asian immigrants that have been arriving in Australia for several decades. Some set up small restaurants but others, more importantly, took over farming in the 1970s from earlier waves of older Greek and Italian immigrants. Kitchen gardens with Asian vegetables and herbs began mushrooming in Adelaide's western suburbs, noodles began to be extruded from machines at small Asian-owned factories and small workshops went into the business of producing bean sprouts.
Today, in Adelaide and its environs, where one in five "locals" is of foreign extraction, it is not uncommon to run into a Vietnamese farmer. I find myself driving north-west from Adelaide to Virginia where Hien Le has recently won the Australian Hydroponic Greenhouse Association National Young Achiever of the Year award. It was his father who was the migrant, a butcher with a piggery who arrived in 1981 and began to dream of a hydroponic farm but lacked the mastery of English needed to see it through.
The son has fulfilled his father's dream. In the humid greenhouses, Vietnamese workers quietly tend to hundreds of vines, seemingly rootless, magic stalks growing upwards and then outwards for easy harvesting, each loaded with either pendulous cucumbers or a bounty of tomatoes. In the semi shade of the cucumbers are spring onions, sorrel, Vietnamese mints and basils.
The bean sprouts, in another suburb, are harder to get to as the Chinese owner has perfected some unusual techniques to give the sprouts a longer shelf-life (10 days) and suspects that I might be a spy. He relents in stages, first sitting at his desk in a silent, Hamlet-like stance, tilting his head this way and that to read my real intentions, then unlocking just one room for me, then another and then another. I will not give any of his secrets away. I can say that on the whole, he sprouts his mung beans (which are grown in Queensland) just the way I do in my New York kitchen. In a seven-day process, these beans are soaked, allowed to sit in dark covered, rectangular colanders where they sprout as if underground and develop their white "tails", and are finally washed to free the original beans of their green skins.
In an effort to find the best laksa in Adelaide today, I return to the enclosed Central Market. With Lucia's Fine Food nearby to provide a fine cup of espresso afterwards, Asian Gourmet is there and still good.
I walk on the outer rim of the market, along Gouger Street, past an all-Asian supermarket, to Kopi Tim (168 Gouger Street.) The curry laksa sauce, flavoured here with dried anchovies, may be had with rice or wheat noodles or a mixture of the two. It is very, very good. I drain the last drop. Nothing could be better.
Well, not exactly. There is yet another spot to entice the laksa fanatic. It is in a recently created area in Central Market known as the Food Court. Let not the word "court" give any wrong ideas of exclusivity. In Singapore and Malaysia, food courts are plebeian affairs, of the people and for the people, created in the 1970s and 1980s to take street food hawkers and their carts off the roads, clean up their acts and put them in air-conditioned, sanitary and controllable surroundings.
In Adelaide's Central Market, the Singapore-Malaysian food court model has been imported, wholesale. It is large, crowded, noisy and impersonal, a massive rectangular hall lined with food stalls. You stand in line to buy your food at the stall of your choice and then take your filled containers and cutlery to shared tables and eat. No table manners required. Slurp at will.
Here, there is a food stall named Laksa House. It boasts a world of laksas, including seafood, vegetarian and, for my money (under A$7) the best curry laksa in town.
I ask for curry laksa with mee hoon noodle soup. I am given a bowl that could easily serve two, with a side of chilli-shrimp paste sambal and a chunk of lime. I teeter to the nearest table with my load. Pink prawns float about in the red liquid along with slices of chicken and melt-in-the-mouth, pasta-like forms of fish paste. The fried chunks of bean curd, having soaked in the numerous flavours and aromas, are now all soft and spongy. I stir a spoonful of the sambal (a pounded and sautéed mash of red chillies, dried shrimp and onion) into my laksa, squeeze some lime juice over the top, and, holding my whole head over the bowl to avoid drips, dig in with a pair of chopsticks and a Chinese spoon. Nothing could be better. I am in laksa heaven.
Madhur Jaffrey is the author of a memoir 'Climbing the Mango Trees' and 'Madhur Jaffrey's Far Eastern Cookery'


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